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V 




THE BEST IN LIFE 


BY THE SAME AUTHOR 


AUTUMN 

EARTH 

THE INDIVIDUAL 
APRIL PANHASARD 
HALF IN EARNEST 

THE MAN WITH THE DOU- 
BLE HEART 



^THE BEST 
IN LIFE 


BY 


MURIEL HINE 

(MRS. SIDNEY COXON) ✓ 


NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY 
LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD 
TORONTO : : S. B. GUNDY : : MCMXVIII 




Copyright, 1918, x 

By JOHN LANE COMPANY ^ 


( « 4 


■MAR -6 1918 

■ I- 

©CI.A492404 ^ 


Av^ h/ 


GARRIT CANNON 

AND 

AGNES CANNON 

MY AMERICAN FRIENDS, 

AND, SINCE THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN, 
MY ALUES 


" For life, with all it yields of joy and woe, 

And hope and fear . . . 

Is just our chance o’ the prize of learning love. 
How love might be, hath been indeed, and is ; 

And that we hold thenceforth to the uttermost 
Such prize, despite the envy of the world, 

And, having gained truth, keep truth, that is all.’^ 

Robert Browning, 


THE BEST IN LIFE 

PART I 

A DREAMER OF DREAMS 
CHAPTER I 

P RETTY Mrs. Serocold sat upright in the Empire 
chair, painfully conscious of a cushion adorned 
with a spray of blackberry leaves in raised gold 
tissue which pierced the chiffon veiling her plump white 
shoulders. She wished now she had not discarded the 
fur coat by her side, with its soft collar of chinchilla 
matching her grey velvet toque. Under her feet was a 
tabouret with the same prickly ornament. It slipped 
across the parquet floor at the slightest stir of her high- 
heeled boots. 

The cushion and hassock emphasized the prevailing 
note of the salon: an elegance without comfort — that 
shallowest form of luxury. 

For the Maison Clotilde knew its clients. They em- 
bodied the class of Society that worships the New and 
the Bizarre and “ discovers ” Genius by the process of 
referring to its market value. 

Mrs. Serocold’s restless eyes, of a rather indefinite 
hazel hue, darted across to a draped alcove, where a 
dressing-table with spindle legs upheld an elaborate three- 
fold mirror beneath a lustre with crystal drops, which 
glimmered down approvingly on cut glass bottles and 
toilet fittings. 

She could catch a glimpse of her reflection : the henna- 
coloured glossy hair and delicately tinted cheeks which 
were a credit to her masseuse, smooth throat, full bosom 
and the long beautiful rope of pearls that rose and fell 
with every breath. 

She smiled back unconsciously, greeting this familiar 
friend with an air of pleased patronage. Undoubtedly, 
she was “ looking her best.” 


7 


8 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


A movement on her companion’s part broke up the 
absorbing vision. 

“ Well ? ” She turned her pointed chin in his direc- 
tion, her eyes bright, and became aware of his discomfort 
and gloomy air of outraged patience. 

“Nice thing you’ve let me in for!” His silence ex- 
ploded into words. “ If I’d known — ” He stopped 
abruptly with a nervous glance across the room. 

For “ Clotilde ” had reappeared, a tall mannequin in 
her wake, attired in the latest Paris fashion. 

“ I’m off! ” He made an attempt to rise from the low 
gilded couch which recalled the picture of Madame 
Recamier and looked absurdly out of place beneath his 
lean muscular limbs in their khaki uniform. 

“ Ah, no ! Do be good ! ” Mrs. Serocold waved him 
back caressingly. “ I shan’t be long. And then we’ll go 
to that gallery and you shall explain the Bex cartoons. 
I really didn’t mean to stay. But since I’m here — ” 
She leaned sideways, pouting a little. “ Besides I hoped 
you’d advise me. You’ve such wonderful taste in 
dress, and a man always knows what a woman should 
wear.” 

Clotilde, approaching, studied the pair out of her 
prominent clever eyes, shrewdly divining the soldier’s 
gme but anxious to satisfy her client. 

“ Monsieur perhaps finds the room too warm? After 
the trenches,” she added, smiling. She was wondering 
if the young man helped with Madame’s bills? One 
never knew! “Would Monsieur prefer a chair outside, 
on the balcony, where he could smoke? Qa y est!” 

She signed to a girl hovering near, in a straight grey 
gown with the merest hint of uniform, and before the 
victim could protest a seat had been arranged for him. 

''Voila!'' Clotilde beamed, triumphant, “Monsieur 
enjoys his cigarette and the good air, and yet sees all 
and advises Madame through the window. Par id, mon^ 
sieurP She held back the elaborate curtains of taffeta, 
caught into draperies, daintily ruched, by little knots of 
golden apples. 

“ Oh — thanks ! ” He made his escape, relieved to be 
out of the scented room but angry as a creature trapped. 
He saw at once to his defences. “ Better have this shut, 
I think? Wind’s in the east.” Determinedly he closed 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


9 

the window after him, ignoring his lady’s hurried pro- 
test. 

Clotilde, wisely, made no attempt to foil this masculine 
manoeuvre, and he sat down on the gilded chair cau- 
tiously, stretching his legs. 

A cold wind fanned his face. He drank it in eagerly, 
blinking a little in the glare after the dim light within. 
The tall house lay in shadow above the narrow quiet 
street and, glancing back, he realized the advantages of 
his retreat. 

Silhouetted against the light he could watch Mrs. Sero- 
cold, himself but an indistinct outline on the narrow stone 
balcony. For he still felt a man’s discomfort at being 
the object of attention in a hive of femininity, an object, 
too, of restrained amusement ! 

“ ril pay Tory out for this.” He dived for his ciga- 
rettes. “ It’s going just a bit too far. And she said it 
was only to leave a message!” 

Meanwhile the lady anathematized had dismissed him 
serenely from her mind — shelved him, in fact, for fur- 
ther use — and returned to the business of the moment. 

Through a fan-light above his head he could hear her 
high determined voice: 

“ It must be smart, and original, but not too voyant — • 
you understand? To wear to anything in war-time!” 

Parfaitementf* Clotilde smiled. All my ladies de- 
sire the same. Rosalie ! ” The mannequin stepped for- 
ward obediently. “ This is one of our latest models. 
Madame observes — ” She lifted up the hem of the 
short full skirt — “ the little wire? But quite pliant. To 
hold it out — so graceful! Ah non, Madame! not a 
crinoline ; though I hear — ” Her voice sank to a whis- 
per. “ Or, of course, we could edge it round with fur? ” 

Mrs. Serocold shook her head. 

“ I don’t think so. It’s too late in the season for that; 
almost spring.” 

Clotilde smiled. 

'' Au contraire, madame. Fur is the rage, on all the 
new models. Even for summer gowns. I’m told. Fur, 
fur, a passion for fur! It’s going to be introduced with 
muslins! So chic, the combination.” 

The man outside gave a scornful grunt. 


JO 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


“ What rot ! He addressed his boots, subtle compan- 
ions in misfortune. I’d like them to try our goatskin 
coats, live in ’em day and night They’d soon lose their 
‘ passion for fur ’ ! ” He struck a match and, shielding 
it with hands scored by recent scars, lighted his ciga- 
rette and went on with his steady grumble, “ I thought 
England had woken up. After eight months of war! 
But they don’t know yet what it means. Still at the 
same silly game ! Makes me sick to come back to this 1 ’’ 

The little outburst relieved his temper. 

Within the temple sacred to dress, his lady had started 
her own battle. He recognized the shriller note of bar- 
gaining through the open fan-light. 

“ Impossible ! It’s much too high. Thirty guineas f 
1 couldn’t, really. I shouldn’t feel it right in war-time, 
when we all have to economize.” 

\ “ Ah — this war ! ” Clotilde shrugged her shoulders 
with an air of despair. Who indeed does not feel it? 
It spells ruin for every one. Materials so costly now. 
And labour a cruel proposition. Ladies will not realize 
the difficulties facing us.” 

With a sidelong look at her client’s face, pretty but 
hard, she changed her tactics. 

V oyons, M adame, we must arrange ! I have other 
models, less expensive.” She dismissed Rosalie airily. 

V a, mon enfant. Tell IsoH to put on the ‘ putty ’ cloth 
— the coat and skirt from Jacques Noyau.” 

As the girl left the room, Clotilde unbent to her cus- 
tomer. 

“ For an old and valued client, perhaps, we can make 
a little deduction; although it is the latest model. But 
between ourselves? Not. to be mentioned?” 

Mrs. Serocold nodded gaily. 

“Of course not. I understand. And then when this 
horrid war is past and we’re all of us rich again — ” 

She left the sentence incomplete with a laugh that 
was shallow as herself. 

Clotilde’s full lips tightened. She did not share in the 
belief that Peace would mean the Millennium; that the 
changed world would swing back to its old careless pros- 
perity. But her voice was suave as she replied, 

Assurhnent! Meanwhile Madame will find a smart 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


II 


tailor-made more practical just now. In Paris they wear 
little else.’' 

A flicker of feeling passed over her face, with its thick 
white skin, lightly powdered. A keen observer would 
have guessed that it was born of patriotism. For the 
costly models Clotilde showed were made entirely for 
foreign trade and not for the vanity of the nation. 
France had early found herself. By a strange turn of 
the wheel of fate the race accused of Latin “ lightness ” 
had risen to the supreme heights of individual sacrifice. 

“ Ah now, what’s this ? ” Mrs. Serocold looked eager 
as the folding doors opened wide and a fresh mannequin 
entered the room. 

She moved with a faint swing of the hips unusual in 
an Englishwoman. The heavy pleats of the “ putty ” 
skirt showed to advantage high-arched feet with rounded 
ankles, neat and slim. She walked superbly, her head 
high. 

“ Jove, that’s a stepper ! ” thought the man at the 
balcony, roused from his absorption, And what a fig- 
ure ! ” He stared through the glass aware of a sudden 
check to his boredom. 

“Will coats be as short as that?” Mrs. Serocold 
sounded suspicious. “ And is there a bodice under- 
neath ? ” 

“ Yes, in one. A three-piece gown. IsoH, show 
Madame ! ” 

With a graceful movement the mannequin slipped her 
ari^is out of the sleeves and disclosed the upper part of 
the frock, semi-transparent and low at the throat. 

“Now isn’t that perfect?” Clotilde enthused. “So 
nice for Bridge or a little lunch; even the theatre at a 
pinch. For people are not dressing now; just wearing 
these transparencies.” She smoothed back the lace at 
the neck. 

“With a short skirt?” The client frowned. Clo- 
tilde’s eyes swept down to the elegant boots on the stool. 

Mais certainement ! What could Madame desire 
more providential? With Madame’s feet!” 

A smile curved the mannequin's lips. She raised her 
heavy-lidded eyes to note the result of the flattering 
speech. 


12 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


The man in the balcony leaned forward. He had just 
decided she was too pale, colourless, with her smooth fair 
hair, the hue of honey in the comb, despite the fine 
arched brows and lashes which looked black by con- 
trast. For those eyes were the keynote to her beauty : 
Jewish eyes, passionate, deep, with the brooding wonder 
that underlies the glance of a persecuted race. 

“ What an unusual type,’’ he thought, drawing his chair 
closer still to the long pane of plate-glass. 

At the grating sound the girl’s dark eyes swept the 
window. Surprised in turn, a warm colour stole into 
her cheeks ; her lips parted ; between them he glimpsed a 
row of even, dazzling teeth. The youthful picture was 
complete. 

Now, at a gesture from Clotilde, she walked slowly 
across the room, exhibiting the lines of the gown. The 
man watched her, fascinated; that faint sensuous sway 
of the hips, the cold mouth and passionate eyes. 

Her hands fell limply to her sides with long slim 
fingers; her shoulders drooped. An air of languor sug- 
gesting the East weighed upon her like a spell. Yet the 
creamy texture of her skin and the honey-coloured heavy 
hair, drawn boldly back from her face and piled high 
with a dull green comb, were surely a legacy from the 
West. 

As she wheeled round he had time to note a little pink 
ear, from which there swung a pear-shaped drop in palest 
jade, and the fine modelling of her throat. The fashion 
at the moment forbade any attempt at a fringe, but per- 
mitted a curl on either cheek to atone for its severity. 

This absurdity suited the girl, with her smooth young 
forehead and arched brows, which gave her a faintly 
mocking look, as though she questioned th'e world’s opin- 
ion. 

“ IsoH ” — a Jewish name? 

Across the man’s vague conjectures Mrs. Serocold’s 
shrill voice broke. 

I should like to try on that coat, if I may? ” 

A little stir followed the speech. Mrs. Serocold, 
preening herself before the mirror, expressed approval. 

“ With a black hat ? ” Clotilde mused. “ And one of 
the new fur collars. It needs that — the finishing touch ! 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


13 


Just a narrow band of skunk, fastened with a velvet rose. 
Pervenche blue, the latest shade. Anna ! ” She called 
the girl in grey. ‘‘Tell Delphine she will be wanted. 
And to bring down the Virot toque, the black one with 
the aigrette. Also — 

Mrs. Serocold interposed: 

“ What would be the price of the gown ? ” She was 
not to be hurried off her feet into fresh extravagance. 

“ I will see, Madame. I am not sure. It only came in 
yesterday. It is undoubtedly Madame’s dress, designed 
for her, both colour and style ! 

She went out with her noiseless step which had some- 
thing almost feline in it, despite her full solid figure with 
the Gallic bosom and tight-bound hips. A hush fell on 
the long room where the mannequin stood, easily posed, 
smoothing the pleats of the graceful skirt. 

Mrs. Serocold dreaded silence. She broke it conde- 
scendingly. 

“You like wearing pretty things?” She studied the 
girl’s aloof young face. 

“ Yes, Madame. When they suit me.” Her voice 
was low and musical. A faint foreign accent lay in the 
carefully spoken English words. 

Mrs. Serocold noticed it. 

“You’re French, aren’t you?” she hazarded. 

“ Partly, Madame. That is to say my mother was 
Niqoise.” Her eyelids drooped. 

“ Ah, that dear sunny South ! ” The lady gave a little 
sigh. “ How Tve missed it this hateful winter; with the 
fogs and the horrible dark streets.” 

A pause followed the complaint. Then the girl raised 
her head. 

“ This war has made a difference. Does Madame 
think we are going to win ? ” 

“ Of course ! ” The customer looked shocked. 
“Why ever not? You can’t doubt it?” 

The mannequin seemed to hesitate as though she 
were weighing the pros and cons. 

“No, Madame,” she said at last. “Not in the end. 
But when will that be ? Who can tell ? ” She shrugged 
her shoulders. 

‘‘ It will be over in a year.” The lady spoke with 


14 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


authority. ** Quite over — a case of starvation. Even 
now they feel the pinch — are short of food and of 
forage. Besides I have private information. I am not 
allowed to tell you more but a cousin of mine who’s mar- 
ried a man whose uncle’s in the Cabinet, and who of 
course knows everything, is very firm upon the point.” 

“ I see, Madame. It is interesting.” IsoH’s lips be- 
trayed no smile but demure mischief lurked in her eyes. 

Madame is fortunate indeed to know exactly what goes 
on. With us ” — she threw out her slender hands : a 
gesture of futility — ‘‘ we wait and hope and read the 
papers and wonder why nothing happens. It is, perhaps, 
a test of faith? ” 

The man outside smiled grimly. 

Mrs. Scrocold stared at the girl, vaguely annoyed by 
her attitude. She was one of a class of woman dismayed 
by the state of war without a true realization of what it 
involved. She looked on it as a personal grievance, dis- 
turbing the tenor of her days, and as far as possible 
ignored it unless she had gossip to impart or a grievance 
against the Government. 

Now she felt her serenity threatened by the cynical 
attitude of a “ shop-girl.” 

“Of course,” she spoke rather coldly, “ it wouldn’t do 
to let every one into our military secrets. But I don’t 
mind informing you” — she lowered her voice mysteri- 
ously — “ that certain developments are expected shortly 
in the Dardanelles. Turkey is bound to crumple up once 
we threaten Constantinople, and then with the " Russian 
steam-roller’ we shall see great things in the Balkans. 
I hear already that Priz — Chim — you know, that place 
one can’t pronounce — may fall at any moment now. 
What a blow it will be for the Kaiser ! ” She leaned 
back in her chair and smiled, pursuing the pleasing train 
of thought. “ I wonder what we shall do with him ? ” 

“ When we take him ? ” suggested the girl. 

Mrs. Serocold, rudely roused from dreams of Elba 
and Napoleon and the Kaiser pacing the lonely isle in 
eagled helmet and fierce moustache, gave the sceptic an 
angry glance. 

“ I’m afraid you’re rather pessimistic.” Her manner 
was tinged with insolence. “ I suppose I’m too British 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


15 


to feel a doubt. But I thought that the French were 
equally staunch and confident in the result ? ” 

Isoel’s pale cheeks warmed. She resented the im- 
plication. 

“ Undoubtedly, madame. They strive to ensure it. 
With all their men at the Front.” She laid a quiet stress 
on the words. “ But I am partly British too, through 
my father, and if I fear at times, it is not because I 
mistrust the army — ma foi, non! — but the people at 
home.” 

“ Really ? That's very interesting. In what way ? ” 

Mrs. Serocold’s hazel eyes wandered down over the 
girl contemptuously. Secretly she felt annoyed to dis- 
cover no flaw in the beautiful figure. What right had 
a Clotilde mannequin to that subtle air of dignity? 

Unperturbed by the other's frown, IsoH took up the 
challenge. 

“ I think we are not awake yet — not all of us — to 
the needs of the War. Madame will excuse my saying 
there is too much amusement still in London. We have 
passed too quick from the first alarm. It is, perhaps, be- 
cause we are rich and the suffering has not begun.’' 
Her mouth hardened. “ But it will come.” 

“ Not begun ! ” The fair client drew herself up in- 
dignantly. “ And what about our poor wounded ? ” 

“Ah!” said the girl. ''They know. I was talking 
of Society.” 

She turned her head, aware, too late, that Clotilde 
stood upon the threshold, her face full of amazed dis- 
pleasure. 

“ Isoel! ” Her voice was sharp. “You are wanted 
in the fitting room. You can leave the coat.” 

The girl moved off, biting her lip but her head high. 
Anna met her in the passage. 

“ You'W catch it ! Madame heard. Your tongue, my 
child, will be your ruin. Better keep clear of Monsieur 
too. He seems to have got his knife into you !” 

Meanwhile Mrs. Serocold, fully aware that the man-- 
nequin would reap the reward of what she called the 
“ impudence of the lower classes,” was drinking in a 
heady dose of flattery at Clotilde's hands. 

“And how the colour suits Madame! But Madame 


i6 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


can wear anything. Mon Dieu! it is a pleasure to dress 
a lady with Madame’s figure. Ah, here comes the black 
toque. See how it lights up Madame’s hair? Yes — a 
little on one side.” She stood back and clasped her 
hands. “And the fur, Delphine? The skunk collar? 
Madame observes how the dark note throws up her deli- 
cate complexion? So warm too — with these cold east 
winds. Madame is like a Kirchner picture. She should 
be painted. Just — so ! ” 

Deftly she pinned a knot of blue periwinkles below 
the throat and lowered her voice mysteriously. 

“ I am going to make Madame a price that I could 
not to any other lady. Twenty-five guineas ! A three- 
piece gown! From a new model whicji cost me forty! 
But not a word to Madame’s friends. With cloth a 
miracle to obtain! Still, for an old customer — even in 
war-time — one does one’s best. The hat? Ah, the 
hat is another matter. But perhaps Madame has an 
aigrette ? ” 

Mrs. Serocold, carried away by this breathless flow, 
peered in the glass, yielding to the spell of “ suggestion.” 
She fingered the fur beneath her chin, conscious of its 
pleasant warmth. 

The husky foreign voice went on. 

“ A tailor-made in the early spring is always an 
economy. No doubt Madame would like to call Monsieur 
on the balcony to see the effect of the hat and coat?” 
She glanced backwards at the window. 

She could catch the outline of the soldier, now on his 
feet, bending down over the narrow iron rail, absorbed 
in some detail of the traffic. 

“ No — not yet. Wait a minute ! ” 

Mrs. Serocold’s voice was sharp. She did not wish to 
be interrupted and Clotilde smiled to herself. It settled 
one question in her mind. Delphine, obedient to a ges- 
ture, threw a veil over the hat and knotted the ends with 
deft precision. 

“Yes. I like it,” said the lady. 

Outside, in the street, a newsboy’s voice rose shrill 
and breathless, calling the names of the papers. 

The man above scanned the head-lines on the flutter- 
ing sheet as the urchin passed. 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


17 

“ Disaster in the Dardanelles. Loss of British Battle- 
ships.'’ 

He had just time to spell out “ H. M. S. Ocean” in 
heavy type before the lad swung round the corner. 

His face was grim with anxiety. He pushed back 
the French window and stepped quickly into the room. 

Mrs. Serocold, surprised, glanced up at the appari- 
tion. 

“ I’ve nearly done. Just wait a minute.” 

He interrupted the flow of excuses. 

I’m going out to get a paper. There’s bad news — 
of Ernest’s ship.” He strode across the slippery floor, 
indifferent to her annoyed protest. 

“ But you’re coming back? ” 

Afraid I can’t,” he turned at the door impatiently. 
** I’m sorry, Tory, but you see Mabs will want me, if it’s 
true. Gone down in the Narrows — the Ocean! You 
understand ? ” 

“Yes, of course. You poor boy! Still — ” She 
stopped as the door slammed and gave vent to her an- 
noyance : *’ Oh, this war ! What a nuisance it is ! One 

can’t settle to anything. Yes, I think I’ll take the hat. 
Black too,” her voice was pettish. “ It’s wiser, isn’t it, 
just now? I live in hourly dread of mourning!” 


CHAPTER II 


I Nf a house overlooking the approach to one of Lon- 
don's big stations, a girl sat by the fading light busily 
trimming a straw hat. 

Beneath, the trains rumbled past, shaking the long 
untidy room where a pair of shabby iron beds seemed 
to have wandered by mistake, in contrast to the lofty 
walls, with ornate moulded cornices and a vast mirror, 
that rose to the ceiling, between the deep-set Georgian 
windows. 

For the house had seen better days, and the room 
which Isoel Dark and her friend now rented for a trifling 
sum had in olden times been qualified by the stately title 
of “ Reception." 

Gone were its massive gilded chairs, its carpet vivid 
from the loom, its chandelier of lustrous glass reflecting 
the lights of the wax candles; gone all its magnificence 
and yet about the old room hung a certain air of dignity. 

With the growth of the railroad traffic and the huge 
station and hotel, the house had sunk to the common 
fate of streets that hem in a terminus. 

Starting on its downward course as a boarding-house, 
it was now debased to humble lodgings in which the 
rooms were let to pairs of married workers or to single 
women who could boast the qualification “ respectable." 

But the mirror survived the years of change ; and the 
fine old gilt, grimed by the soot cast up by the hurrying 
trains, glimmered dully here and there from arabesques 
of carved wood, topped by a Cupid — one arm broken 
— clasping a cornucopia. 

Isoel Dark loved this mirror. Here she could play to 
her heart’s content that deathless game of make- 
believe," which is the refuge and resource of loneliness 
plus imagination. 

She loved, too, the noisy trains which jarred on her 
companion’s nerves, the more material London girl with 

i8 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


19 


her shrewd wit and love of pleasure. Isoel would creep 
from bed on tiptoe, whilst the other slept, and crouching 
down on the window-seat lift the edge of the dingy 
blind, to peer out through the night for the shower of 
sparks amidst the smoke from the iron horses as they 
sped in their headlong gallop to the coast. 

Here, to her, was the gateway of life: the first plunge 
from the drab wet streets into the green world beyond. 
With straining eyes, she would picture herself borne 
along in that maddening rush down to the far off belt 
of shore ; drink in the salt breath of the waves and the 
dimly remembered tarry smell of harbours and clustered 
shipping. 

Sometimes these waking dreams were so vivid that 
she could feel the swell of the steamer beneath her feet 
as she set sail for the land of adventure; France, the 
Midi, her mother’s home, and, farther still, Italy with 
the deeper blue of the southern skies ; palaces in lace- 
like marble, gay dark faces and pattering tongues. 

Travel moved her as nothing else. It stirred in her 
blood, a legacy of centuries that had run their course 
from the days when Drake’s drum was heard throbbing 
down the western breeze to those when a modern Eng- 
lish queen showed the world how a woman could rule. 
And ever a Dark had cut adrift from his family and 
shore delights obedient to the call of the sea. 

Gervase Dark had been the last. The fair record was 
blotted now by the stain of his treachery to the Service 
his fathers had helped to build. 

Nevertheless IsoH’s pride wove about him a chain of 
romance. Drunkard and gambler, he yet had been a 
hero in her childish eyes, a glimpse into another world. 

Her mother had fostered the delusion. 

Court-martialed and dismissed the Navy when the 
loss of his ship drew all eyes to the fact of his secret 
vice of intemperance, Captain Dark had drifted about 
the Continent, a social outcast, finally to run aground in 
the magical harbour of Monte Carlo. 

There he took unto himself a second devil more potent 
still, and gambled away recklessly the savings of his 
prosperous years. 

As his resources slowly ebbed, so his manner of living 


20 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


changed until at last he found himself in a sordid hotel 
at Monaco. It was kept by an aged French Jew, a 
widower with an orphaned grandchild; and here in this 
squalid setting love stole into the outcast’s life. 

Miriam, little more than a slave in the frugal estab- 
lishment, but young and eager, full of romance, with her 
beautiful pleading Jewish eyes, saw in this derelict of 
fortune a hero and a gentleman. 

The pitiful story held but one end. After a year of 
secret passion, her own disgrace synchronized with a 
desperate run of ill-luck at the tables completing her; 
lover’s ruin. 

The old Jew, furious when this double disaster reached 
his ears, aware that credit was overdue and that scandal 
threatened his own household, pinned down the guilty 
pair to an immediate marriage. 

He had realized that a man like Dark, lacking all nor- 
mal strength of resistance when money was loose in his 
pockets, but by no means a villain at heart, could be 
managed by a skilful hold upon the supplies that fed his 
vices. Meanwhile unconsciously his guest had increased 
the trade of the house. Obviously of gentle birth, gay, 
gregarious in his cups, he supplied the right atmosphere 
to attract customers to the bar. Sailors from the little 
port found him excellent company and the clientele had 
moved up a step in degree since his arrival. 

Dark, in spite of his weaknesses, might yet prove a 
useful asset, always provided that he earned sufficient 
to warrant his support; earned, that is, his food and 
lodging, with an occasional dole of coin, in return for the 
little halo he cast of gentility round the Jew’s household. 

It is doubtful if the old man’s guile and constant 
threats would have achieved unaided the result he 
sought; but Dark was genuinely in love. 

His money was gone with his reputation. Here at 
least was a home open with an adoring and beautiful 
girl who never upbraided but subtly coaxed and to 
whom he owed reparation. Although at times he shrank 
aghast from the thought of a definite legal tie with a 
class so far removed from his own and all the traditions 
of his boyhood, his weakened stamina clutched at the 
chance of support without the effort of work. Three 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


21 


months before Isoehs birth the pair became man and 
wife and Gervase Dark entered upon another stage of 
his downward career. 

The Jew kept him short of cash and, little by little, 
driven on by the Furies that pursued the man, he sank 
to the post of serving himself the customers who 
thronged the bar and of washing the glasses in return 
for a weekly wage and the feverish joy of a stolen night 
at the Casino. 

Then at the last gasp of his pride a miracle happened, 
setting him free. A letter reached him, long delayed, 
announcing an unexpected windfall. Cunningly he 
guarded the secret, afraid of the avaricious patron. 

His daughter was then ten years old, fair-skinned as 
himself with her faded mother’s beautifur eyes. She 
was the only link that held the Englishman to Monaco. 
For a week he wavered ; then one day disappeared, leav- 
ing no trace of his destination or his plans save a brief 
line of farewell to his wife, promising money later on 
and bidding her make no search but believe that his 
absence was for the best. 

On this hope she lived for a time, daily expecting his 
return, nursing her aged grandfather, threatened with 
a second stroke, and assuming command of the busi- 
ness with the thrifty patience of her race. 

The Jew died, one hot June night, and on the day of 
his burial Miriam received a letter enclosing notes for 
one hundred pounds. 

Beyond the fact of its London postmark, no clue was 
afforded her as to her husband’s whereabouts; merely a 
line in the well-known hand: “Bank this. For you 
and the child.” 

Faithfully she fulfilled his wish. Here was an un- 
expected dot for Isoel, now growing fast, with the prom- 
ise of unusual beauty. 

Miriam, aware of this, stirred by old-time memories 
of the husband so deeply loved, roused herself from the 
lethargy into which she had sunk of late. 

The knowledge that Dark was still alive, in his own 
country and affluent, nerved her to part with the hotel 
to the first client who bid for it; and armed with the 
profits, she and her child started forth in the fond pur- 


2.2 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


suit of a worthless man who yet had won the undying 
love of wife and daughter. 

French cousins in Soho took in the lonely pair and 
from thence the long search began, doomed to endless 
disappointment. 

Their slender resources slipped away but they found 
work in the Quarter and lived not unhappily, buoyed 
by a sense of expectation which never at least failed the 
mother. The old streak of romance which had cast her 
into the sailor’s arms became more vivid with middle- 
age, and she trusted blindly to some strange chance which 
should bring her face to face one day with the lover of 
her girlhood. 

Hand in hand with the pretty child she would haunt 
the Park and the well-known streets, those wistful glow- 
ing eyes of hers scanning the faces of men who passed. 

With the passionate loyalty of her class she brought 
up IsoH to believe in the man who had ruined her own 
life, to remember that she was gently born and must 
live as befitted an “ English lady.” 

The idea became at last an obsession. She saw in this 
straight slim girl of hers, with her honey-coloured luxur- 
iant hair, a princess in disguise — the end to her own 
fairy story ! 

Some day IsoH would meet her parent on a social 
plane far removed from that of her birth. She must be 
prepared for this event. 

Time, which had silvered her glossy hair and added 
weight to her full figure, wove about Miriam the spell 
of mystery in her quest. 

People befriended the mother and child. At the 
dressmaker’s where both worked, the girl’s refined man- 
ner and taste attracted an elderly customer, a lady who, 
bereaved herself, found solace in Catholic charities. She 
made inquiries through the priest and learned the whole 
pitiful story. After a long interview with Miriam she 
offered to take the daughter into her own household as 

sewing maid,” at the same time to see that the girl’s 
education was continued under her own roof. 

Here was a chance too good to miss. Sadly the pair 
separated, and IsoH went to Chester Square leaving her 
mother in Soho. 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


23 


Lady Manister, divining the sharp pain of the parting, 
allowed the latter many opportunities of visiting her 
protegee. But Miriam held back. Pride, and the course 
she had mapped out for the daughter of Gervase Dark, 
made her hesitate to recall the girl to her old squalid 
surroundings. 

Isoel was for “ better things,” destined to marry and 

marry well.” She drove this into the girl’s young 
mind with reiteration and fond advice. 

Still she haunted the West End streets in the intervals 
she snatched from work, spending her Sundays relig- 
iously amidst the gay throng in the Park. Sometimes 
she would catch from her seat in the front row near 
Hyde Park Corner a glimpse of Lady Manister, strolling 
past with Isoel carrying her cloak and books. For in 
the course of three years the protegee had superseded 
the old maid — now pensioned off — and become the 
right hand of her mistress. “ Maid-companion ” she 
styled herself, faithfully copying the ways of Lady Man- 
ister and her friends, fired with all her parent’s ambition. 

Led, albeit unconsciously, by an inherited strain of re- 
finement — the old instincts of the Darks — the parody 
was not overdone except upon rare occasions. Then the 
first great grief of her life fell upon her. Her mother 
died leaving her a legacy of a hundred pounds — the 
dot, untouched — and a last wistful admonition to live 
as befitted her “ father’s daughter.” 

Two months later her patroness went the way of all 
flesh ; suddenly, and with no instructions for the further- 
ance of her charities. 

With the double shock heavy upon her, Isoel, now 
nineteen, cast about for fresh employment and again 
fortune favoured her. 

Her perfect figure and fine carriage had attracted the 
notice of Clotilde on the occasions when the former had 
attended her mistress to various fittings. It secured her 
a post in the busy house as mannequin and the chance 
she sought to study again at close quarters the class she 
was learning to imitate. 

Nothing escaped her watchful eyes. She saw the 
world as in a mirror, smiling for her, dancing past and 
beckoning to “ follow, follow ! ” out on that pathway of 


24 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


adventure which led to the heights of her ambition: 
marriage with some “ fairy prince.” 

In the seclusion of the room which she shared with 
Patty Stephens — a friend of the old Soho days, em- 
ployed in a manicure department — with the aid of the 
lofty glass, she rehearsed her part, a born actress! 

She lived in this world of “ make believe,” with the 
friendly old mirror casting back the play of her fine 
slender limbs, the gay, tossed head, and sparkling eyes. 
With the dingy chequered counterpane caught up from 
her iron bed and pinned securely to her shoulders, she 
would make her bow to Royalty ; or, draped in it, “ im- 
agine ” a tea-gown and entertain her fairy prince with 
the latest gossip of the town; listen, demure, to his ad- 
vances or check his ardour with a frown. 

Sometimes, too, she would dance, glancing over her 
rounded shoulder to watch the lightness of her step and 
the swing of her short shabby skirt; fully aware of her 
pretty ankles and the well-shaped arms, firm and white, 
with their tapering fingers that lightly touched, in im- 
agination, her partner’s shoulder. 

Patty would watch her, interested but slightly scornful. 

“ There you go ! Why can’t you come to some hops 
with me and dance with a real live man ? ” 

But Isoel would shake her head. 

“ No, thanks — not with shop-boys.” Cold disdain 
would sound in her voice, “ I prefer to keep to my own 
class.” 

Patty would laugh good-humouredly, aware of the 
mannequin s ambitions. 

“ Well, don’t trust too far to it; or you’ll get badly left 
one day.” 

Now as she sat in the fading light trimming a new 
straw hat with some flowers which had survived one 
season, Patty glanced up at the clock with a puckered 
brow, realizing that her friend was late in returning 
home. 

She admired Isoel immensely. Although she affected 
to despise the upper classes, secretly she was flattered by 
the thought that this girl of gentler birth than herself 
should seek her out as a house-mate. 

But, apart from this, some maternal instinct lay at 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


25 


the base of the friendship. Her own shrewder knowl- 
edge of life and the hardships of the daily struggle had 
made her old before her time, sharp-tongued and self- 
defensive, Her womanly instincts, hitherto cramped, 
felt the need of expansion. She divined in her com- 
panion a certain strain of recklessness and the need of a 
restraining hand. 

IsoH was doomed to success. But how? By what 
devious paths? She required Patty’s common sense to 
balance her flights of imagination. 

Aware of her friend’s proud ambition, Patty foresaw 
that the time might come when Isoel’s curious beauty 
and charm might lay her open to grave temptation. By 
no means a prude, enjoying pleasure with the frank zest 
of the Londoner, her own morals were based less on re- 
ligion than on the experience she had gained. It taught 
her that girls who succumbed to what she called “ shady 
ways ” slowly sank out of sight into lower grades of 
misery. 

From this she swore to guard her friend, her pro- 
tective instincts on the alert ; unaware that it called out 
the highest good in herself. 

Now, as she sat in the window-seat, pinning the 
crushed and faded wreath round the new spring hat, 
she glanced apprehensively at the clock. Isoel was un- 
usually late. The thought irritated her. 

Beneath, through the growing darkness, a train was 
being shunted noisily, emitting a heavy cloud of steam 
and then a long and piercing whistle. 

Shut up ! ” the girl grumbled. It fair gets upon 
one’s nerves. No peace, morning or night.” 

She stared through the open window. A smut sailed 
in serenely and settled on her freckled nose ; a snub nose 
that looked good-tempered despite the fiery red of her 
hair and a glint in the eyes with their sandy lashes. 
Absently she put up her hand and the smut became a 
sooty smear, licked her thimble and replaced it, her head 
a little on one side, criticizing her handiwork. 

‘‘ Won’t do ! The bow’s all wrong. ^ Isoel would set 
it right in a second if she were here ; give it somehow a 
smart twist. I wish she’d come. What can have kept 
her?” 


26 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Then she heard a quick step pattering up the stone 
stairs ; the door opened and her friend swung gaily into 
the room. 

Her cheeks were pink, her eyes shone; about her was 
an air of excitement, a subtle triumph that did not es- 
cape the watchful maiden by the window. 

“ Hallo ! what’s up ? Have you been boxing Mon- 
sieur’s ears ? ” 

'‘Yes — metaphorically!’’ The word rolled glibly off 
her tongue. But for all her evident absorption in some 
secret victory Isoel did not forget to glance sideways at 
her friend, the mirror. “ Ciel! but I look hot.” She 
sank down on the nearest bed and pulled the pins out of 
her hat. 


CHAPTER III 


IS Patty’s voice was impatient. “I 

%/\/ suppose he’s been up to his old tricks ? ” 

¥ V No.” Her eyes still on the glass, Isoel 

was rearranging the little curls above her ears. She 
added with a mysterious smile, “ And he’s lost his last 
chance now.” 

Patty gave a little gasp of mingled excitement and 
dismay. 

“ Don’t tell me you’ve got the sack ! ” 

“ Perhaps.” 

Isoel, thoughtfully, examined her hands, her face de- 
mure. It was part of the game. She did not intend to 
mar the effect of a thrilling story by pouring it out im- 
pulsively. 

“ Patty, you’ll have to see to my nails. They’re much 
too long for munition work ! ” 

The elder girl, justly annoyed, threw down her hat 
and crossed the room. Leaning across the narrow bed 
she caught the culprit by the shoulders and gave her a 
determined shake. 

“ Don’t go on in that foolish way! What’s happened? 
I want to hear.” 

“ There’s no need to get excited. A mere case of 
tyranny and the ‘ worm turning.’ ” Isoel smiled mali- 
ciously with sombre eyes. “ I was the worm — hien 
entendu! — the serpent in Monsieur’s Garden of Eden. 
Heavens ! I wish you’d seen his face. And all the other 
girls were there.” 

Releasing herself from Patty’s hold she slipped off the 
bed and faced her audience. 

It was Rosalie’s doing — the little sneak ! She’s al- 
ways been jealous, from the start. Directly she saw 
that Monsieur admired me,” her lips curled scornfully, 
“ she tried to get me out of the place. As if I would 
stoop to flirt with him, an odious little wretch like that ! ” 

‘‘ Oh, that’s it,” Patty whistled. ‘‘ But what could she 
27 


28 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


do, beyond being a cat? I always thought you were 
settled there ? ” 

“ I wasn’t quite so sure of that. At least not since the 
war began. Anna told me that she’d heard Madame dis- 
cussing economies and a further reduction in the staff. 
Monsieur, it seems, agreed with her that two mannequins 
were sufficient. Madame wanted to keep me on, be- 
cause of my figure,” her hands went down to her slender 
waist with unconscious pride, but Monsieur voted for 
Rosalie. Anna, of course, is a fixture; she’s been there 
for nine years. But it’s Monsieur who has the last 
word. Though he keeps discreetly in the background, 
the money’s his. He’s the God in the Car.” She went 
on with growing scorn, “ A nice fat, squat little god ! 
With his puffy face and evil eyes.” 

Her friend nodded. 

“ I know ; a beast ! Like Gilders at our Stores. Can’t 
let a girl alone, and if you cheek him he pays you out. 
But they couldn’t dismiss you suddenly without some 
decent sort of excuse?” 

“ No, Rosalie saw to that. I’d been making an esti- 
mate out for Anna, and a spot of ink fell on the gown 
I was wearing, one of the new models. I hadn’t noticed 
it at the time, it wasn’t much, and by great luck it chose a 
place beneath a pleat. But Rosalie was on the watch. 
It was her turn to tidy up and instead of putting the 
gown away she carried it into Monsieur’s room ; said 
she ‘ considered it her duty.’ So in he came blustering 
just as I was ready to leave. He’s never forgiven me, 
I fancy, for that day last year when he tried to kiss me 
and I threatened to inform Madame.” Her cheeks 
warmed at the memory. “ Still, I kept quite cool until 
the end when he refused me my week’s money on the 
plea of damage to the gown. You know we’re fined for 
anything but rarely more than half-a-crown, and con- 
sidering that I’d been dismissed he might have over- 
looked the matter. So then,” she flung out her hands 
gaily “ I offered him my little surprise.” 

“ How? What?” Patty’s eyes were full of the same 
light of battle. 

“ Ah ! ” IsoH drew in her breath. For a tantalizing 
moment she hugged her secret knowledge; then the mir- 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


29 


ror, like a magnet, drew her gaze. “ Wait ! You must 
picture the scene. Anna was there with Delphine, and, 
beyond the screen where we dress, Rosalie, listening 
hard. Monsieur was smiling wickedly, the gown still 
flung across his arm, and I stood, facing him. Like 
this — ” She peered into the glass and posed for her 
friend’s benefit. 

“ Humble, tu vois, and apologetic. I knew that would 
make him tyrannical. If you let a man see you fear 
him, you rouse in him the bully’s instincts. I was wait- 
ing until I heard the creak of the show-room door and 
knew that Madame was there hidden, all attention, and 
then — ” Her face changed swiftly, the air of deference 
gave way to one of pride and sardonic humour, the well- 
shaped head was flung back, slim form drawn erect ; she 
looked like an avenging goddess. 

“ I said — politely, you understand? — ‘ Monsieur, you 
meet my own desires. I do not require my salary. It 
burns my fingers, your German Gold!'' 

Patty gazed. 

You never did? Oh, you duck!" She clapped her 
hands. “But was it true?” 

“ Yes, of course. That’s what stunned him. The 
secret had been well kept; I found it out by the merest 
chance. He’s not even naturalized ! But he’s always 
posed as a Frenchman. A pretty Frenchman, born in 
Hamburg ! Ever since the Maison Drey has been 
wound up and both interned he’s been living in a state 
of panic. Madame is French, Parisian, and the busi- 
ness passes for her own.” 

“What did he say?” 

“ Pie couldn’t speak. His puffy face turned a sickly 
grey and he glared at me for a moment. Then of course 
he began to bluster. But I walked straight past him, 
kissed Anna and nodded to the scared Delphine, then 
turned, for a parting shot, at the door. This was for 
Rosalie. I’m glad now that I learned German!” 

Here was another mystery. 

“ Why ? What did you say to her ? ” Patty watched 
her friend, round-eyed. 

“ I thought it was kind,” said IsoH, “ to warn that 
poor innocent girl that her friendship with Monsieur 


30 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


was dangerous, in war-time especially ! The merest 
hint, you understand: ' Auf Wiedersehen, Frdulein/ 
Madame probably guessed my meaning, she will keep an 
eye on Rosalie. Fm rather sorry for Clotilde. She 
works hard, while he exploits all her taste and her talent. 
He’s mean, too, besides being faithless ; as true a Hun 
as ever breathed! Ah, you should have seen his face. 
He won’t forget IsoH Dark!” 

She nodded grimly at the mirror; then, with a pirou- 
ette, she turned. 

“ No more slavery for me! Now I shall be my own 
mistress. That’s what I meant by munition work.” 

“ You’d never stand it,” said Patty shrewdly. “ It’s 
too monotonous for you. Besides, with your looks, it’s 
a waste. Leave it to the old and ugly who don’t mind 
how they ruin their hands ! ” She viewed the matter 
professionally. 

Isoel frowned. 

“ I’d like the work. I want to feel that I’m of use, 
offering my ‘ widow’s mite.’ ” 

She sat down on the edge of the bed. Absently she 
arranged her skirt and peered at her narrow, well-shod 
feet. For however shabby her dress might be she had 
the instincts of her race “ Bien gantee, bien chaussee’^ 
had been her dead mother’s maxim. 

Patty, watching her, smiled to herself. Here was no 
candidate for “ labour ” ! She went back to her argu- 
ment. 

“ You’d get sick of it in a week ! And then there’s no 
turning back. Once you’re in the Government’s hands 
you become an automatic machine. They certainly pour 
in pennies fast, but expect in return its equivalent. No 
slacking is allowed ; you go on till the works wear out 1 
Of course it’s a nice idea — doing one’s bit — but not 
for you. You’re not built for it, my dear.” 

“ It’s what my father would have done.” 

“Not he!” was Patty’s thought. Wisely she kept it 
to herself, aware of the mixture of pride and shame 
hanging over the name of Dark. At times she envied 
her companion’s superior birth, yet was fortified by the 
knowledge that her own people, though of humbler 
origin, were “ straight-living.” 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


31 


Isoel, conscious of the silence, went on rather quickly : 

“ I’ve been thinking about it for some time. It’s not 
at all a new idea. I used to hear the clients boast of all 
they were ‘ doing for the War,’ their charities and ‘ self- 
denials,’ ” — she laughed with the old touch of scorn 
“ and it made me mad, their hypocrisy ! They’d give a 
guinea to some fund and meanwhile order costly gowns, 
with unpaid bills mounting up — simply spending for 
love of show ! I like to feel I can hold my own with any 
of them and do more. If it comes to a question of 
choosing between us. I’m as well-born as most of them 
and I knozu I have a better figure.” She drew herself up, 
superbly conscious. “ Why should I take a lower place ? 
Be patronized and turned about like a wooden doll while 
they stare at me as if I existed for their pleasure? 
Haven’t I a soul as well ? ” She threw out her hands 
with a vivid gesture. “ But one day they shall see ! ” 

Patty nodded, carried away by the personality of the 
rebel. Then she glanced up at the clock. 

“Good heavens! Is that the time? I’m going out 
with Bert to-night, a hop at the Claverton Rooms. 
Isoel, be a dear and just finish off this hat” She gath- 
ered up the forlorn object. “ And I’ll get the supper 
things. There’s more ribbon if you need it.” 

“More?” The younger girl frowned. “You poor 
dear. It’s all trimming. Must I use these battered 
flowers ? ” 

Patty glanced at them wistfully. 

“ They’re a nice colour, don’t you think ? It’s to go 
with my green voile frock. I thought it would brighten 
it up a bit. Still, have it your own way.” But she 
sighed as she went to the cupboard. 

“ Trimming should be like a smile on a face, a mere 
expression,” IsoH preached. “ Never a set hideous grin 
defacing all the other features. Now, look! If I turn 
up the brim and catch it here and wind the ribbon quite 
simply round the crown with a big bow like a butterfly 
just settling on a flower, you get design, instead of chaos! 
There — isn’t that far better?” 

Patty put down the plates with a clatter. 

“ Y — es.” Her voice betrayed doubt. “ Doesn’t it 
look a bit dowdy? Seems to me to want colour.” 


32 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


“And what about your pretty hair?’' Isoel stooped 
to flattery. “ To fling pink roses on to flames is not 
a hat but a holocaust ! ” 

Her laugh rang gaily through the room. 

“ Put it on ! ” She held out her work of art with a 
last deft twist to the bow. “ Now, isn’t that truly chic? 
It might have been made by Delphine.” 

Indeed in some mysterious way the hat had changed 
beneath her touch to a thing of grace, with simple lines 
and yet distinctive, emphasizing the fiery hair of the 
wearer and casting a slight shadow across the high cheek- 
boned freckled face. 

“Bert — whoever he is — will like it.” 

Patty nodded. 

“ He’s got good taste. He’s a traveller for Miles 
and Gough. You should just see him dance the 
Tango ! ” 

They sat down to their frugal meal. 

“Won’t you come with us to-night? I hate leaving 
you all alone ; and Bert would find you heaps of partners. 
It would cheer you up, a bit of a fling.” 

Isoel, smiling, shook her head. The other gave an 
impatient sigh. 

“Not good enough, I suppose?” 

“ I’d rather stay quietly here. I want to think out 
my plans. I can’t afford to remain idle; but I shan’t 
look for work till Monday.” 

“ No, though you’ve got something behind you. Lord, 
I’d like to be in your shoes and swank about my hundred 
pounds!” Patty spoke with simple envy. 

“My dot? Heavens! I couldn’t touch that.” Faint 
horror was in her voice. She had all the bourgeois su- 
perstition on the sanctity of its purpose. She fell into a 
reverie. 

Patty over her cup of cocoa laughed rather maliciously. 

“ But, if you marry a rich man, what’s a hundred 
pounds to him ? ” 

Isoel came back with a start to present conditions : the 
coarse cloth, chipped plates, stale bread, flanked by a 
thin slice of cheese, a jam pot and the saucepan used for 
brewing the muddy cocoa. 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


33 

The sordid facts dispelled her dream but could not 
diminish her ambition. 

It will come in for my trousseau, of course.” 

“ Oh, you infant ! ” Patty giggled, then glanced 
anxiously at the clock. Ten minutes to get dressed. 
You might give my shoes a rub? I’ll do the same for 
you some day.” 

“Of course I will. Why, the lace is broken! Knotted 
too. Have you a new one? You can’t go out in that 
state.” 

“ Can’t I ? ” Patty retorted. “ It would take more 
than that, my child, to keep me away from a dance! 
I’m not as pernickety as you. If I can’t get the best in 
life, I make up with the second-best.” 

Long after her friend’s departure IsoH recalled the 
speech and turned it over in her mind. 

Chilled by the bare, draughty room, she realized that 
she was lonely. 

Was it wiser, as Patty preached, to settle down in the 
narrow groove of the little manicurist’s class, enjoying 
those pleasures that came her way, than to aspire to 
those above her, choking down the impulse of youth? 

A picture of Bert rose before her — a grotesque tra- 
vesty of the men she had seen at Lady Manister’s house 
— cheerful, uncouth, familiar, with hot hands that 
clutched her waist as they swung together in the dance. 

“Never!” Isoel recoiled as though the phantom she 
evoked had materialized in the dying embers. She clung 
anew to the great adventure, claiming from life its su- 
perlative gift. Patty’s homely philosophy was a com- 
promise with happiness. 

The best, the finest or — nothing at all! The gam- 
bler’s blood in her veins stirred at the thought of the 
high stakes. She would pin her faith on one wild throw. 

She moved across to the window and opened it wide. 
Down the l:n:, fights were glimmering through the dark, 
red and green, on the signal posts. A long train with 
sleeping cars stole past, shaking the room as it gathered 
speed, and she leaned far out watching the sparks that 
spangled the smoke. 


34 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


It vanished swiftly into the night and an odd sensa- 
tion came to the girl that she was parting with a friend, 
a lover bound for another world. 

Wistfully she stretched out her arms, feeling the soft 
drops of rain patter down on her bare wrists, the wind 
riot in her hair. 

I’m coming,” she whispered. “ Wait for me ! ” 

As if in answer, from afar, a low clear whistle echoed 
back, sweet with the promise of adventure. 


CHAPTER IV 


L ondon, ashamed of a frosty dawn that had laid 
fairy fingers across the grimy streets and shivering 
trees, powdering them with a silvery hoar, relapsed 
prosaically into fog. 

It added a further note of depression to that induced 
by the Sabbath in the half empty thoroughfares with 
their shuttered shops and air of sleep, heavy as though 
induced by a drug. 

IsoH had been out to Mass, returning to find Patty in 
bed, reading a tattered novelette, her hair screwed up in 
waving-pins and capped by a dingy woollen shawl, sign- 
manual of a cold. 

To her polite inquiries the patient responded dolefully: 
“ Yes. And if it goes to my chest the theatre’s off 
to-morrow night ! It isn’t often that Bert gets seats and 
I’d been looking forward to it But you know what they 
are at the Stores. If one of us so much as looks at 
one’s pocket-handkerchief, they make an eternal fuss — 
say the customers don’t like it! And life’s so dull with 
this old war, one wants a bit of livening up.” Her 
grumble seemed to do her good for she went on, with a 
chuckle, ‘‘Been to Church and got it over? You look 
ripe for fresh mischief ! ” 

For the raw morning had tinged her friend’s cheeks 
with a delicate colour. Little drops of moisture clung to 
her close-fitting velvet hat, beneath which her smooth 
fair hair shone with the lustre of old metal. Her dark 
eyes were glowing with life as she took off her overcoat 
and shook it out before the fire. 

“ I’ve had an adventure coming home.” 

“ Heavens ! At this hour in the morning. I suppose 
you got lost in the fog? ” 

“ Yes. It came on suddenly, midway from Our 
Lady’s, and I wandered into one of those squares be- 
yond the station, I don’t know which. I had to feel 
along the railings and nearly fell down an area where 

35 


36 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


the gate was standing open. Stepping back, I put my 
foot on something soft and picked it up.” 

“ A purse ? ” Patty looked excited. 

“ No, it was a letter-case. Would you like to see it?” 
Her eyes twinkled. She knew Patty’s pet weakness, 
overpowering curiosity, and went on teasingly, “ I didn’t 
wait to examine it, as there was a loafer hanging about 
and I thought he might snatch it in the fog. It feels 
bulky, full of notes!'' She produced it from an inner 
pocket in the damp and discarded garment. “ I think 
we’ll look at it after breakfast.” 

“No, now!” said Patty sharply. “Bring it here, I 
can’t see it ” 

Isoel turned it over in the firelight pensively. There 
came a stir from the bed, the littered clothes were flung 
back and a plump leg shot out, the foot feeling for the 
floor. 

“ Lie still I I’ll show it you. You’ll only make your 
cold worse.” 

Isoel crossed the room and forced the patient down in 
bed. 

“ That’s the worst of red hair. Always means a 
creature of impulse 1 ” But she tucked the check coun- 
terpane tenderly round her friend. “ Now.” She 
sank upon her knees by the side of the bed and disclosed 
the trophy. 

It was in worn crocodile skin with battered corners of 
silver gilt, handsome still, despite hard service and its 
bulging pockets which spoiled the shape. She opened it 
eagerly and poured the contents on her friend’s lap. 

First came a diary with some loose letters, then ^ 
book, very flat, in green silk, fastened with an elastic 
band. One by one they examined the pockets. A 
crumpled bundle of Treasury notes rewarded their 
search, some visiting cards and lastly an object in faded 
leather with tooled edges and gilt spring. 

Isoel pressed it with her finger and it flew open. From 
both the girls came a sharp “ Oh! ” of astonishment, not 
unmixed with admiration. 

For within the case was a miniature set round with a 
row of brilliants which glittered in the foggy room with 
an opulent effect. 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 37 

** Diamonds ! D’you think they’re realf Patty 
spoke in a hushed voice. 

But Isoel was gazing down at the portrait, heedless of 
its setting. She saw a girl of her own age, with soft 
brown hair parted prinSy above the delicate narrow 
brow. 

One long curl hung down by her cheek and fell across 
a sloping shoulder, fully revealed by the low-cut dress 
drawn together with a ‘‘ tucker.” The pale blue eyes 
and small pink mouth held the shadow of a smile, con- 
scious yet supremely modest. It set the seal of the 
period on the carefully painted portrait. Here was no 
Beauty of patch and powder but a tender Early Victorian 
maiden, full of that prudish sentiment which had re- 
placed stronger emotions. 

Isoel wondered silently at it, aware of the enormous 
gulf between the type and her own girl-friends, unwar- 
ranted by the space of time it had taken to produce the 
change. 

Patty summed it up briefly. 

“ Looks as if she couldn’t say bo to a goose doesn’t 
she?” 

“Yet she’s pretty,” said IsoH. .“Quite pretty and — 
ineffectual ! ” 

“ Well, I wouldn’t change places with her.” 

Isoel, still upon her knees, glanced up at the freckled 
face with its snub nose, fiery hair and bristling crown of 
curling pins. But the blue eyes were quite sincere. It 
was evident that Patty meant it. 

“ Can you see her doing munition work ? ” 

Isoel laughed. 

“ Tatting you mean ? All the same she’d appeal to 
men. Pliant and not too clever.” She spoke rather 
scornfully. “As a proof of that statement here she is 
carried against some old man’s heart, probably some 
bachelor who having failed to make her his wife still 
believes in her perfection.” 

“What a cynical mood we’re in! Cheer up! We’ll 
count the money.” 

With her blunt fingers and pointed nails — a per- 
petual fight between art and nature — Patty attacked 
the bundle of notes. 


38 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Seven pounds ! It looked more. Still there ought 
to be a reward, a good reward, offered for it. Specially 
if those diamonds are real,’’ she added rather wistfully. 

But Isoel made no reply. She had taken up the 
slender book with its d'ark green cover, opened it and 
found a paper one within, a little yellow volume of 
tickets familiar to the clients of “ Cook’s.” 

'' London to Dover ” caught her eye. Then as she 
turned the first page, Dover to Calais ” and suddenly a 
hand closed round her heart 

“ Why, they’re tickets for abroad! ” A breathless joy 
was in her voice. “ Oh, Patty ! Could I use them ? ” 
Better not. You might get caught. Besides, what 
would you do out there? Far wiser to take them back 
with the case and claim a good reward. It’s quite easy ; 
there’s the name plain as Punch on the visiting cards. 
But I’d hold out for a decent price, wait a bit and watch 
the papers. You know how mean people are. One of 
our girls gave back a ring to a customer that she’d left 
behind, a big ruby with diamonds round it, anO all she 
got was half-a-crown ! Poor Lizzie ! She did look sold. 
It doesn’t pay to be too honest — not with the ‘ leisured 
classes.’ ” Her snub nose attempted a sneer and she 
darted a glance at Isoel who was wont to check any at- 
tempt to draw invidious distinctions. 

But the girl’s face was a mask. She sat back on her 
heels, her eyelids lowered, her cheeks pale, the tickets 
clasped in her hands. 

” I’d sooner have these than any reward.” 

Her voice had a far-off dreamy note. Beneath the 
lashes that formed a dark silky line on her smooth young 
cheeks, in a vision she saw golden gates opening out to 
the land of adventure. She heard the trains purring 
past to meet the roar and swell of the sea, and the fog 
faded, giving place to the glamour of the Southern 
skies. 

Patty sneezed aggressively. 

“ There 1 I knew it. I’m in for a cold.” She turned 
the letters over again, comparing the addresses. 

Wake up, IsoH! Ever heard the name of Groot? 
Sir Abel Groot. It sounds familiar.” Her sandy brows 
were drawn together. ” Why, of course ! I’ve got it 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


39 


now. He’s a South African big pot. Owns mines over 
there. Some money, you bet! He’s sure to offer a big 
reward.” 

Isoel nodded. Carefully she put the tickets in their 
case, closed the one with the miniature and gathered the 
scattered notes together. 

I shall take them back this afternoon.” She glanced 
again at the envelopes. ‘‘ Churton Square’s not far from 
here. I must have found it near his house.” 

“ Don’t you do anything of the sort. Let him miss it 
and advertise.” Patty paused. “ What’s the matter 
now ? ” 

‘‘ Nothing.” Her friend turned away. She placed 
the precious treasure-trove on the high old mantelpiece, 
and bent down to stir the fire. “ It’s about time we 
thought of breakfast.” 

Patty frowned, watching her and the obstinate set of 
her shoulders. 

“ I’m not going to let you take that back and throw 
away a chance of money. Just now, when you’re out of 
work! You’re not too proud to accept it, surely? 
Seems like an answer to prayer ! ” She laughed, then 
coughed as she caught her breath. “If you don’t claim 
a reward, I shall. I shall say I picked it up myself ! ” 
She was much amused by this idea. 

Isoel made no response. In her heart she was fight- 
ing a sharp battle. Never before had she been faced 
with such a terrible temptation. Who was to know? 
So she argued. The tickets might have fallen out. She 
could return the miniature and the money and prove her 
honesty. 

Through her mind like a melody rang the four magic 
words: Calais, Paris, Milan, Venice! Blue skies and 
faery seas. . . . 

Patty’s advice fell on her ears like the patter of the 
heavy drops that were darting against the window pane, 
a murmur senseless, monotonous, as the fog dissolved 
from congealed damp and smoke into dirty rain. 

She bent over the wide grate and placed the kettle on 
the coals. 

Patty was still talking hard, aware that something was 
amiss. 


40 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Of course I was only chaffing, dear. You found it. 
It’s your show ! But if you ask me what I think — ” 

“ I don’t ! ” Isoel wheeled round. Her eyes were hot 
with sudden temper. In the pain of her honest resolu- 
tion she felt the primitive human need to inflict pain on 
some one else. “ I know perfectly what I’m about. I 
shall take it back this afternoon. 

“ Oh, very well! ” Patty scowled, injured by the tone 
of voice. She picked up her book and began to read 
with an air of patience ill-rewarded. “ Snapping my 
head off like that ! ” But she said the words under her 
breath and covertly she watched the girl, moving about 
the littered room. 

Once, before the long mirror, IsoH paused and gazed 
at herself. Then with a sigh she turned away. Was 
all life mere illusion — only a game of ‘‘ make-believe ” ? 

For she swung dangerously to extremes, the prey of 
her vivid imagination. 

Now, unconsciously, she drooped, all her energy dis- 
persed. A languid grace was in her step, her Jewish 
eyes fatalistic. 

“ Acting again,” thought Patty, scornful. “ Figuring 
out how she will look when Groot hands her half-a- 
crown and tells her she’s an ‘ honest girl ’ I ” 

Some wireless message must have passed between their 
brains, for IsoH’s thoughts turned suddenly to that 
magnate and her cloud of depression began to lift. 

She was seized with a new and pleasing idea. Per- 
haps in returning the letter-case she might run across 
fresh adventures, find an interest in this house. Grati- 
tude was a powerful lever. Supposing Sir Abel had a 
son? 

The fantastic theory gained ground. A fairy prince, 
crowned with wealth ! The miniature, after all, might 
be that of Sir Abel’s wife, the dead mother of his boy? 
Ruthlessly she destroyed the airy structure she had built 
around the Early Victorian lady. 

Sir Abel Groot? 

A self-made man. Perhaps a true philanthropist in 
more ways than the normal one of buying a title through 
charities. He would take an interest in herself, feel the 
link of a kindred ambition. She knew that people rarely 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


41 


looked once at her and passed on ; that she roused a 
vague speculation, appealed to that sense of curiosity 
which is stirred by the hint of a mystery. 

Lady Manister had succumbed, prim and strict and old- 
fashioned, feeling the charm of the girl’s picturesque 
half-foreign manner. Why not Sir Abel Groot? 

She stole another glance at the mirror and smoothed 
down her pleated skirt, carefully copied by herself from 
one of Clotilde’s winter models; straightened her collar 
of white lawn with a sudden memory of Anna who had 
coaxed one of the workroom girls to finish the border by 
machine ; and noted with satisfaction how the simple 
blouse showed off her figure. 

Who could say? The pocket-book might be a link in 
the chain of events so long mapped out by herself, a 
step' forward in the game. 

She began to sing in an undertone as she set out the 
cups and plates. Tosti’s ballad rose to her lips: 

Ninon, Ninon, que fais-tu de la vie?*’ 

Her voice was not strong but sweet and fresh. Patty, 
still watching her, marked the change in her appearance. 
The lines in her freckled face relaxed. 

“ That’s all right ! ” she said to her book. ‘‘ I wonder 
what took hold of her? Pride, perhaps. She’s an odd 
sort. That mother of hers was a fool, bringing her up 
to believe she was meant for a fine lady because of her 
father. A pretty father, to run away and leave them 
both in the cart! Pd rather have my old Dad — with 
all his glass on a Saturday night 1 ” 

'' T oi qui n’as jamais su V amour . . 

Isoel smiled as she sang, reaching up for the cracked 
mug that held their little store of sugar. 

V amour f Surely the golden key that would open the 
doorway to success together with her mysterious charm 
and the flawless figure that Clotilde had prized. 

For love was no more to Isoel than a means to an 
end. She mistrusted men. Her cold young heart had 
never been touched by the few, though diverse, types she 


42 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


had met. Lady Manister’s visitors, seen from afar; the 
youths of Soho; Monsieur with his evil eyes, and the 
smug “ travellers ” whom she despised. ' ^ 

Never would she stoop to love and lose its power as 
a weapon. She had all a modern girFs disdain for a 
lapse from level-headedness. 

To be loved? 

Another matter! The fairy prince would see to that. 

So she schemed, under the spell of her childish dreams, 
with the temperament inherited from Miriam who had 
lived, and died, a slave to Romance. 

Groot? It wasn’t a pretty name. Yet like the faded 
miniature it seemed to be set in diamonds. She pic- 
tured herself in a tiara. 

'' Don’t forget the sausages,” said Patty happily from 
the bed. 

Isoel laughed. For a moment she stood, kettle in 
hand, but its movement checked as she held it suspended 
over the teapot. 

“ The sign of the Sabbath ! I had forgotten. And 
now I’ve gone and made the tea.” 

She put the kettle down in the grate and gave way to 
her mirth. 

Patty watched her, open-eyed. 

“What’s the joke?” The infection caught her. She 
laughed and coughed and laughed again. 

“ Always in the clouds, aren’t you ? ” But her little 
blue eyes were good-humoured. She did not guess that 
her practical speech had cut across a glowing vision 
forming in her friend’s mind; a vision of white and of 
diamonds and a wedding feast where a bride with shin- 
ing honey-coloured hair drank deep from the goblet of 
life. 

Nor that the vista, gathering depth, held the sapphire 
note of translucent skies and a faery ship that ploughed 
the seas — Calais, Paris, Milan, Venice! 


CHAPTER V 


T ie big house in Churton Square had a porch up- 
held by a pair of pillars, and Isoel was glad to 
stand under its shelter for a moment to recover 
her breath. She had walked quickly, the wind and rain 
beating against her. 

The door of No. 5 was green, newly-varnished and 
bearing a knocker of silver in the form of a dolphin. 
She raised it and gave a sharp “ rat-tat that echoed 
through the deserted square with a suggestion of defiance 
corresponding with her thoughts. 

For there is no mood more aggressive than the one 
born of conscious virtue. Through the worn crocodile 
case the tickets seemed to burn her fingers and a voice 
whispered in her ear : “ It is not too late. Turn back, 

turn back ! ” But the door opened. A tall footman 
with a thin supercilious face was gazing at her inquir- 
ingly. 

“ Is Sir Abel Groot at home? ’’ She looked past him 
with indifference. She had noticed at Lady Manister’s 
that people talked round servants or over their heads as 
if they were spirits, disembodied yet necessary. 

“ Yes, madam.” He hesitated. ‘‘ But indisposed. I 
do not think that Sir Abel will receive to-day.” 

This was a blow to the girl. She had counted upon 
an interview. It upset the whole plan of action. 

‘‘ I daresay he will see tne. I’ve called upon a matter 
of business.” 

She made a slight movement forward and the man 
gave way, still dubious. 

“If you’ll give me your name, m’m. I’ll h’inquire.” 
She stood now in the hall. It was vast and cold and 
badly-lit, with a chequered floor in black and white 
marble, bisected by a Persian “runner” that looked 
threadbare to Isoel’s eyes. 


43 


44 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Her ardour received a distinct chill, but she held out 
her wet umbrella with a gesture that was a subtle re- 
proach. 

The footman became deferential. 

'' Thank you, madam. What name shall I say ? ’’ 

Miss Dark.” 

He opened a door on the right and showed her into 
a room of lofty proportions with a fire, and switched on 
the electric light. 

“ If you’ll wait here, madam. I’ll tell Sir Abel.” 

He vanished, with a noiseless step. IsoH drew a deep 
breath and looked around her eagerly. 

It was evidently the dining-room, well furnished, with 
Queen Anne chairs, an immense table — on which re- 
posed as centrepiece a silver ship; a galleon wrought by 
a master craftsman, its feathery sails supported by masts 
and stays of metal, its square port-holes decorated with 
lace-like patterns in exquisite cunning tracery — and a 
bow-shaped sideboard laden with fruit, in Waterford 
dishes, and bowls of flowers. 

But what impressed the visitor most was the wealth of 
pictures on the walls. Not an inch of the space was 
wasted. The heavy frames elbowed each other and, 
above them, were hung electric lights, screened by dark 
oxydized shells so that the full radiance should fall on 
each masterpiece beneath. 

Isoel longed to examine them, but a thick fringe of 
dull red silk surrounded the group of central lights, which 
the footman had considered to be sufficient illumination 
for her and it left the rest of the room in gloom. 

She drew off her damp cloak and threw it across the 
back of a chair, conscious that it disguised her figure, 
shown to advantage in her dress of close-fitting navy 
serge and sat down in a low arm-chair holding her feet 
out to the blaze, not forgetting to pull her skirt into 
graceful lines with an eye to her ankles. 

“ I shall stay here until I see him or one of the family,” 
she decided, her chin set obstinately. 

Then, quickly she turned her head. 

A dapper little gentleman, with sleek black hair, had 
entered the room. 

He came forward, peering at her in the fire-light, his 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


45 

eyes half closed in the manner of the short-sighted. She 
took an immediate dislike to him. 

“ Miss Dark ? ’’ His voice was high, his manner fussy 
and important. “ I am Sir Abel’s secretary. Sir Abel 
regrets that his indisposition prevents his seeing visitors. 
But I understand it’s a matter of business. Perhaps I 
could be of service?” 

“ I don’t think so.” 

He stared at her, taken aback by this cool response. 
She settled herself in the soft chair and explained the 
matter deliberately. 

“ I have found something which I think belongs to Sir 
Abel Groot. But, as I am not sure of this and as it 
appears to be of value, I should prefer to give it myself 
into his hands. It would be more satisfactory.” 

Found? Not the letter-case?” He betrayed im- 
mediate excitement and came closer. “ How fortunate ! 
Quite providential ! Sir Abel has worried over the loss. 
In fact it has added to his illness. He will be relieved! 
May I take him the message ? ” 

“ You can tell him that I picked one up as I was re- 
turning from Church this morning.” 

“ Capital, capital ! ” He rubbed his plump white 
hands together. 

“ And that I will give it to Sir Abel if he will spare 
me a few minutes.” 

For she had no faith in this illness ; the subterfuge of 
a busy man to enjoy to the full his Sunday siesta. 

The secretary’s face fell. 

But there’s no need for you to trouble. I can give 
you a description of it, with the contents, and if it tj^l- 
lies ” — he indulged in a cackling laugh — “I presume 
you will be satisfied.” An afterthought seemed to strike 
him. Sir Abel will naturally wish to thank you. By 
proxy — that’s understood.” He paused for a moment, 
studying her, taking in her unusual beauty. 

She turned her glowing eyes on him. There was 
mockery in their wonderful depths. 

“ I prefer to see Sir Abe^ myself.” 

The secretary changed his tactics. Leaning against the 
mantelpiece, a roving eye on the pretty ankles, he became 
suddenly confidential. 


46 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Look here, you know, it’s better not. He’s got a 
sharp attack of gout. Not in bed, not so bad as that, but 
in the mood to be, shall we say, just a trifle autocratic? 
I shouldn’t advise you to see him, really.” 

She was silent now, considering. The secretary 
watched her, amused. Her insistence had altered his first 
impression that he was dealing with a lady. He put her 
down as a milliner, “ Devilish pretty and sharp as nails. 
Out to get a big reward. And why not ? ” he asked him- 
self. “ She’d turn many an old man’s head.” 

“ Better hand it over to me,” he said with open famil- 
iarity. “ Sir Abel’s not ungenerous, but he doesn’t care 
to be worried.” 

At this she sat up very stiffly. There is no one so apt 
to take offence as the individual who feels uncertain of the 
position he assumes. 

” I think this interview may end.” She had read the 
phrase in a magazine and it came in very appropriately. 
She stood up and reached for her coat. 

The sleek young man laid a hand on it. For a moment 
they glared across the chair back, both obstinate and dis- 
gusted. Then, he shrugged his shoulders lightly. 

“And the letter-case?” He forced a smile. 

“ Since Sir Abel declines to see me I shall take it direct 
to Scotland Yard. Of course it will mean further de- 
lay.” Delicate malice was in her voice. 

The secretary gave in. 

“ Well,* just a minute ! ” He made for the door. 
“ Confound the girl ! ” he said to himself. “ Anyhow 
I’ll prepare Sir Abel. She’ll meet her match. He’s in 
the devil of a mood.” 

But he did not go near the caller again. He reserved 
to himself the pleasant prospect of running across her in 
the hall in full retreat later on. The tall footman deliv- 
ered the message: 

“ Sir Abel will see you now, madam. Will you come 
this way.” 

She followed him, cheeks warm with victory but her 
heart beating a trifle fast, up the wide gloomy staircase. 

She was ushered into a smaller room on the first floor, 
dimly lit, the walls lined with innumerable books. 

Miss Darkr 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


47 

The footman retired. She found herself in the pres- 
ence and advanced, a courageous smile on her lips. 

In an armchair by the fire she saw a man of sixty-five 
or more, with a shrewd, ferrety face and a little pointed 
reddish beard. One foot in a felt slipper lay on a rest of 
padded leather ; the other, encased in a neat boot, sprawled 
across the Turkey carpet. 

Temper seemed to radiate from his wiry frame as he 
turned his head and gave her a penetrating glance. 

“ Good day.” His voice had an ominous snap. “ I 
understand that you’ve brought back a letter-case dropped 
by me and that you have some strange objection to hand- 
ing it over to my secretary ? ” 

” Yes.” She stood there facing him, head erect and 
eyes sombre, aware of a sudden disillusion. This little 
ferrety man, with his beady eyes heavily sunk in pouches 
of flesh denoting ill-health, the Diamond King — Sir Abel 
Groot ? ” I picked it up in the fog this morning and when 

I found that it contained money and — other things, I 
concluded the owner would be anxious.” Her voice 
strengthened as she went on. ‘‘ That is why I took the 
trouble to come here on a day like this. It is not a 
pleasant afternoon.” 

Sir Abel nodded his narrow head. 

“ I’m much obliged to you,” he snapped. I had 
framed an advertisement to appear in the papers to-mor- 
row morning offering a substantial reward. Of course 
that still holds good. There was not much money in the 
case but a miniature which I prize.” 

“ Surrounded with diamonds,” said Isoel. 

Something in the way she spoke riveted his atten- 
tion, a trace of contempt as though she wished to explain 
away his generosity. Languidly she moved forward and 
held out the letter-case. 

“ Perhaps you would look through the contents and see 
that they are all in order.” 

A faint smile curled his lips, which were full and fleshy 
beneath the grey invading the red of his moustache. He 
glanced at her with the eye of a man appraising a woman’s 
charms. 

“ You’re a very business-like young lady.” 

The light from the small reading-lamp on the table 


48 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


placed beside his chair included her now in its circle leav- 
ing the rest of the room in gloom. It warmed her proud 
youthful face, cold mouth and resentful eyes, and lingered 
a little, lovingly, on a curl of honey-coloured hair. 

Sir Abel continued quite calmly : 

Which is unusual, allied to beauty.” 

Isoel felt nonplussed. She remained silent, watching 
him. Carefully he examined the case, turning out the 
various pockets. 

“ Quite in order,” he said suavely. 

She shook with silent indignation. For in the insolent 
old voice was a touch of surprise, subtly cruel. 

Suddenly he looked up at her. 

“ I suppose you think me most ungrateful? ” 

IsoH saw her chance. 

” Not at all. I am overwhelmed by your kindly re- 
ception and ample thanks.” She stepped back towards the 
door. “ Good day. Sir Abel Groot.” 

He stopped her with an impatient gesture. 

‘‘ Wait ! ” She was startled into obedience. An odd 
twinkle grew in his eyes. “ You think me a churlish, rude 
old man? So I am. You’re perfectly right. I make you 
my apologies. You must lay it to the score of gout. If 
you had forty thousand devils pinching your toes with 
red-hot pincers, you’d resent an interview forced on 
you by a total stranger — for a whim ! ” 

Something in his manner touched her, a hint of wist- 
fulness and pain. 

“ I’m sorry you’re ill,” she said slowly. “ I hope 
that it mayn’t be for long.” 

“ H’m ! ” he grunted. “ Coals of fire ! Will you touch 
that bell? We’ll have tea.” 

Isoel’s eyes opened wide. Did he mean it? And 
should she accept this most casual of invitations? Dig- 
nity warred with her sense of adventure. 

The man in the chair read her thoughts. 

It’s by the door, near the second shelf. Thank you,” 
as she found and pressed it. “ I hope your charity will 
extend this indulgence to a sick man.” His voice, albeit 
satirical, was not without courtesy. 

Isoel’s mouth quivered slightly with a sudden youthful 
desire to laugh. 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


49 


“For a whim?’’ she suggested. 

Sir Abel chuckled. 

“ Precisely. The same : curiosity ! ” 

“ So then we’re quits ! ” Her eyes danced. 

“ Nearly.” 

She left that unchallenged. He watched her return to 
the fire with that distinctive walk of hers, the faint swing 
of the rounded hips. It aroused his speculations. 

She might have Spanish blood in her veins, her mother 
an Andalusian ? Despite his secretary’s sketch : “ I 

should say a milliner or typist,” Sir Abel was baffled by 
her manner, daring, unusual and yet refined. 

“Will you try that chair?” he pointed to one on the 
other side of the fur hearth-rug. “ It’s a day to get close 
to the fire typical of an English March. And to think 
that I might be in Venice.” He shivered, rubbing his 
chilly hands. “ I put it off, and now it’s too late.” 

The servant appeared and he ordered tea. 

“ Venice — ” He took up his story again. “ With the 
golden sunshine and blue skies. Are you fond of pic- 
tures ? ” he asked abruptly. 

“Yes, though I don’t know much about them.” She 
leaned back luxuriously, her head propped against a 
cushion. 

“ Then you know as much as most people.” He gave 
one of his low chuckles. “ Pictures,” he said, “ are my 
hobby. I was going to a private sale in Venice — the 
chance of a lifetime — and now it’s lost! This infernal 
gout came on last night. I shall be crippled for a month. 
Have you ever been to Italy ? ” 

“ No.” He heard the regret in her voice. “ Though 
I’d give anything to travel! If / could afford a hobby,” 
she smiled, “ it would be that : to see the world.” 

“ You might have used these tickets then ? ” He tapped 
the letter-case on his knee. 

He had meant it purely as a joke and he was amazed 
by its effect. For the colour flooded the girl’s pale face; 
she bit her lip and her heavy lids fluttered and fell, hiding 
her eyes. 

“ I wanted to.” 

The truth escaped her against her will and, desper- 
ately, she tried to recover the lost ground. 


50 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


That is — it would have been — amusing ! To get 
out of the fogs and damp. With somebody else to pay. 
you know ! ” She glanced up, caught his stare, full of 
cynical attention, and suddenly the tension snapped. 
Tears rushed up into her eyes. Oh, it’s all very well 
for you to smile! But you don’t understand what it 
means. To long and long for anything and know you 
have no earthly chance 1 You can have all that you fancy 
— anything that money buys! Why, I’d give the best 
years of my life — ” She left the sentence incomplete and 
passionately, hopelessly, flung her secret grudge at him : 
“ You haven’t tried being poor! ” 

“ Haven’t I ? ’’ He smiled grimly. I’ve sold papers 
in the streets in Cape Town as a lad. You can’t be much 
poorer than that! You shouldn’t judge by appearances.” 
His beady eyes ran over her, curious and interested. 
"‘Well, why didn’t you keep those tickets? Since the 
maggot of travel’s in your brain.” 

“ I couldn’t.” Her voice had sunk again. “ There was 
my father — ” 

She checked herself as the door opened and the foot- 
man appeared with the tea. Slowly he proceeded to lay 
the massive tray upon the table and arrange the dishes 
with scrupulous care. Both watched him impatiently. 
As his solemn step died away reluctantly down the pas- 
sage Sir Abel resumed the conversation. 

“ Your father objected, I suppose? ” 

But Isoel had regretted her outburst. She felt slightly 
ashamed of herself and took refuge among the tea- 
things. 

“Shall I pour out?” 

Sir Abel nodded. 

“If you will. No milk for me. Thanks.” He took 
his cup from her hands. “ What does your father do? ” 
he asked. 

For many years IsoH had given her parent decent 
burial. It saved such a lot of explanations. 

“ He’s dead,” she corrected gently. She helped herself 
to a foie-gras sandwich with a pretty show of slim fingers 
newly-manicured by Patty, part of the Sunday ritual. 
“ He was a captain in the Navy.” 

“ English ? ” Sir Abel’s eyes narrowed. 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


51 

“ Yes, although my mother was French. I was born 
abroad, at Monaco. My people had a villa there.” 

Sir Abel’s face was inscrutable. He drank his tea 
thirstily. 

‘‘ And they’re both dead ? ” 

“ Some years ago.” IsoH smiled sadly. She was 
warming to the needs of the story. “ I was left very 
badly off. You know what naval pensions are? I had 
to do something for myself even while my mother lived. 
I became companion to a lady - — a titled lady.” 

Sir Abel smiled. 

“ And you liked it? ” 

“ Pretty well. She was extremely kind to me and took 
me about among her friends. But of course it was very 
different to the old life of my childhood.” 

“ Yes, I suppose so.” 

What did he mean? IsoH felt a faint qualm. 

There was something suggestive in his voice, a slight 
hint of amusement. When he spoke again it had van- 
ished. 

“ And now ? ” he prompted genially. 

She laughed, with a shrug of her shoulders. 

“ I’ve joined the Great Unemployed. I’m thinking of 
munition work. I should like to feel that I could be of 
use, however small, in this crisis.” 

There followed a silence, disappointing, after this 
patriotic speech. 

Presently, without comment. Sir Abel resumed his 
catechism. 

“ You live in town? ” 

“ Yes, with a friend. In a flat.” She smiled behind 
her tea-cup. Well, it certainly was a flat; “self-con- 
tained ” a good description ! 

“ Won’t you cut that cake ? No, not for me. I’m on 
a strict diet at present. Why do you want to go abroad ? 

The question took her unawares. 

“ I don’t know. I always have. I remember my old 
home there.” She leaned forward, more natural; the 
alert look died out of her eyes. “ It’s the colour, I think, 
and the sunshine ; the sense of adventure in the air. Here 
everything is so drab and always the same ! ” She shiv- 
ered slightly ; a dreamy look came into her face. “ I re- 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


52 

member, at Monaco, we used to go out on warm nights 
and look across to the Casino. It’s wonderful, a fairy 
scene! All those little dancing lights on the point that 
juts out to the sea, with the white ‘ Rooms ’ and the hills 
beyond and the deep luminous water below. Like silver 
lace fringing the edge of the blue mantle of the Ma- 
donna.” She clasped her hands unconsciously. ” Now 
at night I lie awake and listen to the trains outside. The 
room we live in looks out on the line, the main line. It’s 
always crowded.” Sir Abel made a note of the slip. It 
filled a vacant place in the puzzle. ” I love to hear an 
express roar past and follow it in imagination. There’s 
something always calling me. Is it the sea? ” Her eyes 
were wide. She looked as though she saw visions. “ It’s 
like an ache that nothing can cure. It makes me feel an 
exile here, beating against iron bars.” 

Silence followed the long speech. Isoel was lost in 
dreams. If Sir Abel had satisfied a whim he had also 
gained in the process an unexpected variety in the moods 
exhibited by his guest. 

He believed about a third of her story. The naval 
parent was a fraud; more likely to have been the captain 
of some tramp steamer, he thought. The ” flat ” had 
diminished to one room. That villa now at Monaco ? He 
smiled into his reddish beard. Yet the girl interested him. 
He offered himself the luxury of a social experiment. 
Why shouldn’t she pffay the role she craved? 

He raised his head with a sudden jerk. 

“ Can you spare me another cup of tea? ” 

She started and apologized. 

‘‘ I’m sorry. Of course 1 I wasn’t thinking.” 

‘‘ Picturing yourself in Venice, eh? I think that’s the 
only cure for you.” 

She gave him the hurt look of a child who sees a toy, 
long desired, dangled far out of reach. 

“ And why not ? ” he resumed as she came across, cup 
in hand. “ It’s only a matter of arrangement. You say 
you have nothing to do just now. It’s a pity to waste the 
tickets. Then, of course, there’s the reward for return- 
ing my missing letter-case. I’d figured it out at £50. 
That ought to see you through. A week or two at a quiet 
hotel — For God's sake, girl, be careful!” She sprang 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


53 


back, horrified. Never go near a gouty man,” he 
grumbled, his face red and mottled. '‘If you’d touched 
that leg-rest you’d have killed me ! ” 

She could not answer, too bewildered. For her 
thoughts moved in a mad circle. Fifty pounds — 
Venice — gout ! 

“ There — sit down ! ” He laughed at her. “ My 
bark’s always worse than my bite. What do you think of 
my little plan? I’ll only make one stipulation.” 

“Yes? ” She found her voice at last. 

“You shall write to me when you get there and give 
me your first impressions. The place, the people, every- 
thing. Honestly, though; no frills and graces! I’d like 
your opinion on the pictures — especially the Carpaccios ! 
Your own, mind, not second-hand. Just exactly how 
they strike you.” He was shaking now with silent 
laughter, speculating on the result: Venice as seen 
through her untrained eyes above all her notions on Art. 
“ When can you start? You’ll want a passport. Travel- 
ling’s not easy now. But all that can be arranged. I’ll 
put you up to everything.” 

IsoH seemed to come to life, to emerge from this be- 
wildering dream. 

“But I can’t I she gasped. “You don’t mean it? 
It’s a joke! The tickets, and fifty pounds \ ” 

“ I’m quite serious.” He nodded his head, touched a 
little, despite himself, as he saw the tears well up in her 
eyes. “If you’ll go to that writing-table there, you’ll 
find a cheque book and a pen — a fountain pen. Bring 
them here. And what’s your name? Dark? What 
else?” 

“ Isoel,” she answered faintly, as she returned with 
these articles, too bewildered to disobey him. 

He tapped the point of the pen on his nail and wrote 
out the cheque in a small crabbed hand with a flourish 
under the signature. 

“ There.” He handed it to her. 

She slipped down upon her knees, the action dramatic 
but sincere. 

“ I’ll pray for you every night of my life ! I can’t thank 
you. I don’t know how ! It’s like some wonderful fairy 
gift.” Beneath her emotion, youth bubbled up and swept 


54 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


her straightway to laughter. I always knew it would 
come like this ! She sprang up and stood above him 
laughing down into his face. “ Sir Abel Groot, you’re 
a duck ! ” 

“ Am I ? That’s news.” He could not resist the in- 
fection of her childish gaiety. “ Don’t presume too much 
on it ; you haven’t got the tickets yet ! ” 

“ Ah, but you will ? ” She was coaxing now. You’re 
not a man to do things by halves.” 

“ It’s a mercy then that I’m tied by the leg.” He 
looked at her wickedly. “ Here you are ! ” He tossed 
the thin volume of tickets up to her. She caught them. 
Extravagant, she pressed her lips against the cover. 

“ Venice \” The word was eloquent. 

‘‘ I’m not sure you’re to be trusted, careering over the 
Continent. You’re not afraid of getting lost? Or kid- 
napped ? ” he added slyly. 

“ I’m used to looking after myself.” She did not re- 
sent the imputation. “ When I was mannequin at Clo- 
tilde’s — ” She bit her lip. 

Sir Abel chuckled. 

Companion, you mean, to a lady of title? ” 

“ No. That’s true.” Ingenuously she admitted him 
into her deceptions. “ I went there when Lady Manister 
died. I thought it would be rather fun.” 

‘‘And was it?” 

“ Not altogether. Monsieur was — well, a beast ! But 
I paid him out before I left.” 

“ Tell me? ” The beady eyes twinkled. 

She acted the scene for his benefit. 

He watched her with growing admiration, her pretty 
posings and shrewd effects, her mixture of innocence and 
guile. 

“ By heavens, if I were well enough I’d take you to. 
the shop to-morrow and order a smart dress for you. 
Would you like that?” He watched her closely. 

“ No, though it’s very kind of you.” She did not offer 
any reason. 

Sir Abel deliberately forced her hand : 

“You wouldn’t accept clothes from me?” 

“It’s a different thing, isn’t it?” She gave him back 
glance for glance. 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


55 


You’re right.” He nodded his head gravely. 

When you marry I’ll give you a wedding present. You 
mean to marry ? ” 

Some day.” 

“ And marry well ? ” 

^‘Why not?” 

Her little air of dignity was delicious. He chuckled, 
pleased. 

“ You certainly ought to. You’re ambitious and you’ve 
‘ got the goods,’ as the Yankees say. But you want to get 
your story pat; it’s a bit too loosely linked at present.” 

She did not resent his outspoken words. She was too 
thrilled by the great adventure. “ Poverty is no crime, 
but it’s wiser to bolster it up with facts. You’ll have to 
learn the virtue of silence. Never show the cards in 
your hand and only bluff for high stakes, not as the rule 
but the exception.” 

She nodded wisely, her eyes bright. 

“ But I’m not penniless,” she cried, ‘‘ I’ve got my dot 
— a hundred pounds ! ” 

At this vast fortune Sir Abel smiled. Then his face be- 
came grave again. He felt a new curiosity. 

‘‘And you haven’t touched it? Not a sou?” 

“ No, ma foi ! ” she tossed her head. “ I’d sooner 
starve.” 

His brows went up. Here was a strange contradic- 
tion. 

“ Not even to cure your love of travel? ” 

“ No.” Her mouth closed, obstinate. 

“ H’m ! ” said Sir Abel. “ You’ll go far.” 

“ I mean to,” said Isoel Dark. 


CHAPTER VI 


C ALAIS was disappointing. Paris, circled round 
in the dark, remained a city of mystery, whipped 
by narrow lines of light, with gloomy patches of 
high houses. Then followed the long night of uneasy 
sleep as the train rocked and fretted against the grinding 
brakes when they slackened speed before a station. 
Hoarse voices and slamming doors and the sudden 
vision of glaring lights which pierced the blinds ruth- 
lessly brought IsoH many a start to stare about her in 
•amazement. 

Then, as they slid forth again into a chilly unknown 
world, she would hug herself with sheer delight in find- 
ing her dream realized. 

On the opposite seat lay a mother and child, blotted 
out by a tartan rug, and above in the rack were their 
two hats, black, with heavy crape veils. 

The little girl slept serenely but her widowed parent, 
wide-eyed, watched the swinging knob that fell from the 
screen drawn closely over the light. Whenever Isoel’s 
oyes opened, they fell on that white impassive face, and 
once, in the middle of the night, she heard a sound of 
stifled sobs, easing the overburdened heart. 

Here was some victim of the war robbed of the hus- 
band of her youth, returning to her parents’ arms like a 
wounded bird back to its nest. 

The memory added a sobering touch to Isoel’s waking 
thoughts when the dawn came stealing in, first grey, then 
tinged with a rosy promise. 

She crept to the window and peered out between the 
woodwork and the blind and saw a fair land of hills with 
a silvery stream leaping down on its rocky bed to a 
distant valley; then, with a little catch of her breath, 
.against the sky, a rounded peak, white and glistening, 
capped with snow ! 

Swiftly there followed fresh delights: toy-like chalets 
and dark pinewoods and the country began to waken to 
life, with mouse-coloured kine tolling their bells and the 

56 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


57 

thrifty, solid peasant-women, armed with heavy fork and 
basket, cultivators of the soil. 

^ The gay “ toot of the little horns, blown at the way- 
side stations, made her smile ; and presently they drew up 
at one of these, the engine snorting, thirsty for water. 

Below, on the platform, she saw a stall, covered with 
bowls of steaming coffee and crisp rolls in a pyramid, pro- 
pelled by a sturdy girl in blue with a black shawl pinned 
round her shoulders. 

A man was shouting lustily some warning about the 
length of the halt. Isoel let down the window and hailed 
him in her mother tongue. 

“ Can one descend ? ’’ 

'' Mais oui, fimdame. Dix minutes d'attente!' 

He opened the door and she clambered down, making 
her way to the coffee-stall. 

The platform began to hum with life. Travellers, 
with ruffled heads and loose costumes hastily screened 
by flapping ulsters, yawning, stamping, clustered about 
the vendor of food, and a shrill buzz of talk arose, a 
clatter of crockery and coins. 

Isoel stood a little apart, feeling the keen, crystalline 
air stir the loosened hair beneath the motor veil wound 
round her head. She could have sung aloud for joy. 
Never had coffee been so good, bread more crisply satis- 
fying! 

She got back into the carriage regretfully as the “ toot- 
toot of the little horn blew warningly ; in her wake the 
widow and child. 

The train moved on again and they fell into conver- 
sation. The pair, she learned, was bound for Milan. 
The mother, of Italian birth, had married a Parisian. 
She still talked French with the sonorous vowels and 
rolling r's of her own country. 

She spoke calmly of her trouble; her husband had 
been killed by a shell — “ Like that ! Gone in a second ! ” 
But Isoel could not forget the quivering figure in the 
night, crying silently into her pillow. 

She played with the child, showing it the contents of 
her dressing-bag. It was her most cherished possession ; 
an old-fashioned pouched affair long discarded by Lady 
Manister, a relic of her bridal days. After the old lady’s 


58 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


death, the cousin who inherited the house and all that it 
contained had found it in an attic cupboard and had given 
it to the departing maid, as a souvenir of her mistress. 

The lining was of faded moire and one of the narrow 
bottles was missing; but a pair of worn ivory brushes, yel- 
lowed with age and engraved with a monogram and coro- 
net, lent it a certain dignity, together with other minor 
fittings. 

As she held the ivory glass in her hand and combed 
back her thick hair Isoel noticed that Madame Dupont’s 
eyes were riveted on the back. She guessed that the little 
coronet had aroused lively speculation and it brought 
Patty back to her mind; Patty, tearful at her departure 
and inclined to mistrust Sir Abel Groot. 

“ You’d better give yourself a title while you’re about 
it!” she had mocked. “With those brushes on your 
dressing-table who’s to know you’re not a peeress ? ‘ The 

Lady Isoel I’ Sounds to me like the heroine of a 
society story. You want a lorgnette, a string of pearls 
and a lap-dog and you’re complete ! ” 

For Patty had taken the news hardly. She saw this 
beloved, teasing friend slipping away out of the range of 
her scolding tongue and tender heart; faced with dangers 
unrealized, embarking on perilous seas of adventure with- 
out the ballast of her counsel, a creature of impulse and 
wilful moods ! 

“ It’s only for a few weeks.” IsoH had tried to con- 
sole her. “ And I shall write you long letters and tell 
you everything that happens.” 

Patty, sitting on the trunk, forcing the hasp into place, 
had looked up with a wistful glance. 

“ You’ll never want to come back to this” Her gest- 
ure embraced the untidy room where the unstrapped hold- 
all and remnants of paper added to the desolation. “ You 
and your munition work ! ” Her laugh had broken in the 
middle. IsoH, unusually gentle, had hugged the plump 
despairing figure. “ And don’t go writing to that old 
Groot I ” Patty had wiped her eyes fiercely and resumed 
the attitude of mentor. “ I don’t trust him — not an 
inch I He ain’t generous for nothing. And the old ones 
are always the worst ! ” 

“ I must write. I promised to. Besides — ” IsoH had 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


59 


reddened. “ He’s not that sort and he knows what I 
am.” She had tossed her fine head in the air. “ I can 
look after myself, thank you.” 

“ Can you ! ” Patty had sighed. 

Long after the two girls had lain down in the narrow 
beds, side by side, she had stretched out a hand and groped 
for that of IsoH’s. 

“You’ll come back? Swear you will? Straight here 
on your return.” 

“ Post haste from the station ! I promise.” Isoel had 
answered. Little she guessed that the careless words 
would prove a test to her loyalty. 

Patty had turned over again, comforted, in the dark. 

The crisp sunny day wore on. Then the blue sky over- 
head was blotted out by the famous tunnel. The little 
girl began to cry, alarmed at this travesty of night. 

“ It’s a naughty train ! ” She clung to her mother. 
“ I know it’s taken the wrong turning ! ” 

This naive suggestion amused her elders. IsoH en- 
larged upon it. 

“ It’s only tired and wants a nap, so it’s crawled into 
a dark corner. Listen ! Can’t you hear it snore ? ” as 
the dull echo from rock to rock rose in an increasing 
rumble. “Poor train! It’s come so far — all for you 
and Mother and me — and the dustman’s thrown sand in 
its eyes. I think I see some in yours.” 

“ Then I’ll go dodo,’' She snuggled down, her little 
round head on the black lap with its deep border of rusty 
crape. 

The two women smiled at each other. They were very 
good friends by now. 

Then with a whirl of steam and smoke out again into 
blinding light. The child sat up and clapped her hands. 
Isoel let down the window. 

“ Is it Italy yet ? ” she asked, excited. 

“ No, we haven’t passed the frontier. We stop there 
for the Customs. They examine all the smaller bag- 
gage.” 

This ordeal proved a simple affair for the two first- 
class passengers, and after a rather lengthy halt they slid 
slowly into Lake-land. Jhe scenery held IsoH mute; 


6o 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


beauty of hill and blue water, where little boats with 
bright awnings, white villas and sloping gardens with 
marble steps and terraces appeared fairy-like and daz- 
zling. 

On again, leaving the hills, into the rich cultured plain 
till, at last, Milan was silhouetted against the first pink 
clouds of the sunset. 

Milan — the third magical finger-post in her road of 
adventure. 

Here she parted from her friends regretfully, watching 
the pair become involved in the bustling mass of porters 
and luggage. But after a little, to her surprise, they 
returned, hailing her from the platform. The child held 
a knot of flowers, pink carnations, crushed in her hand. 
Her mother lifted her up to the window. 

“Pour vous, madame” she lisped, bright-eyed, offer- 
ing her little gift. “ P'isque Madame est bonne AllieeP 

Behind her, haloed in its veil, the pale sad face of the 
mother gleamed, a mournful smile on her lips, proud of 
the child’s well-learnt lesson. 

The pretty, pathetic incident touched Isoel profoundly. 
Even here, in a country at peace, the shadow of war was 
creeping apace, greedily claiming fresh victims. 

For the first time she felt weary and wished the jour- 
ney at an end. It was the hour of rest from labour, 
and in the many-towered city bells rang out low and 
solemn, from the deep note of the cathedral to that of the 
newer university. 

IsoH settled down in her corner and prayed that she 
might be left alone. Slowly the long platform cleared 
and then, to her supreme disgust, the door was opened 
by a porter, heavily weighed down with luggage. 

He stumped in, slammed the pieces on to the seats and 
made way for a pair of ladies, obviously British. 

They were dressed in identical coats and skirts of Har- 
ris tweed. Both wore spats over square-toed brown 
boots ; but here the resemblance ceased. 

For the taller woman, with short grey hair, was essen- 
tially masculine in appearance, from her flannel shirt with 
a man’s collar, secured by a gold safety-pin above a 
neat knitted tie, to her waistcoat, across which dangled a 
single eyeglass strung on a cord. 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


6i 


Her companion was rather short and fat with a meek^ 
sallow, harassed face. Her faded hair was puffed out, 
with a fringe, under a crushed-looking toque with a pom- 
pon of tulle and violet quills. Beneath her flaccid double 
chin was a little fall of pleated lace, crooked and held up 
by a brooch set with a fine cameo. 

She had small, fluttering, nervous hands that Angered 
the luggage helplessly and then returned to her open purse 
from which, with a flurried air, she took some coins and 
handed them to the porter. 

“ What did you give him? asked her sister in a deep 
voice like a man’s. 

The whispered answer made her frown. 

“ Ridiculous ! Far too much.” 

She gathered up a bundle of rugs and shot it into the 
rack above, let down both windows with a bang and chose 
the corner by the door. 

“Phew! Isn’t this carriage hot? You’d better sit 
there, facing me.” 

“Which way does the train go?” the sister bleated. 
“ You know, Judy, I can’t stand my back to the engine.” 

“ Well, we can change, if it’s wrong.” She drew out 
of her coat pocket an envelope and a pencil. “ Now 1 
What did you pay the cabman ? ” 

They proceeded to wrestle with accounts. 

IsoH watched them, half-amused, half -indignant. She 
sat wedged between the window and a sharp-cornered 
basket with a heavy coat on top of it. 

They seemed to ignore her absolutely, but after a little 
the “ man of the party,” as Isoel had christened her, 
turned and gave her a long, cool stare. She leaned across 
to her sister. 

“ French ? ” The whisper failed in intention. 

The sheep-like lady stole a glance and waggled her chin 
in agreement. 

Something else passed between them, unflattering, IsoH 
guessed. She thought it was time to assert herself. The 
train had started, a chilly wind drove through the open 
windows. Resolutely she pulled up the strap and closed 
the one upon her right. 

The “ man of the party ” glared at her, then across at 
her companion. 


62 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


‘‘Stifling, isn’t it, Bella? But the French love stuffi- 
ness.” 

She did not attempt to lower her voice, but proceeded 
to push back the door that led into the corridor. It re- 
fused to stay in this position as the train swept around a 
curve. She fought with it and IsoH smiled. She knew 
that the fastening was broken. 

But “ Judy ” was not to be frustrated. Diving into an 
ample pocket, she produced a penknife and coil of string 
and went outside to achieve her object, “Bella” mean- 
while expostulating : 

“ I don’t want to be a burden, but really, Judy, there’s 
such a draught round my legs. I’m afraid of it; with 
rheumatism in my knee.” 

“ Coddling won’t do you any good,” came the deep 
voice from the corridor. “ You’re always getting your- 
self so ‘ nesh.’ I don’t wonder you catch cold ! ” 

“ Perhaps, if I put on my thick coat? ” The unfortu- 
nate Bella gave way at once. “ It grows so chilly after 
sunset, just like the Riviera.” She looked round her help- 
lessly and her eyes fell upon the basket with the ulster 
sprawling over it. “ Ah ! ” She reached across, vainly. 

Isoel gathered it up. 

“This one?” 

“ Oh, thank you.” Bella’s face flushed, a dull red. 
So the stranger was English, after all, or at least under- 
stood that language. “ Please don’t trouble ! ” 

But IsoH smiled and passed the wrap, remarking 
lightly : 

“ It gives me a little more room. One gets so cramped 
on a long journey.” She took advantage of Judy’s ab- 
sence to slide the aggressive basket lower, a manoeuvre 
unnoticed by the owner who now appeared with a satis- 
fied face. 

“ That’s secure,” she said briskly, and settled herself in 
her corner ; but as she did so the string snapped and the 
door closed with a bang. “ Damn ! ” 

Bella jumped in her seat. 

“ Judy, dear ! ” Her voice admonished. 

Isoel raised her fine brows. She looked the picture of 
propriety, but inwardly she shook with laughter. 

The “man of the party” stumped out. They could 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 63 

hear her whistling between her teeth as she recommenced 
operations. 

Slowly the veil of night came down on the peaceful 
plains as they rocked along through fertile Lombardy. 

Here and there the flat expanse of fields and dykes 
was interrupted by a line of dark cypresses and a peas- 
ant’s cot, flat-roofed, with walls chalk-white or a faded 
rose, flashed past; the tower of a church with its stone 
cross and round clock face marked a village, strung like 
beads on the cord of a long winding road fringed by 
poplars, grotesquely pruned, with a thin young growth 
sprouting wildly from the maimed and bulging trunk. 

Isoel felt hungry. It seemed many hours since lunch. 
She opened her dressing-bag and hunted for a packet of 
biscuits. Judy had switched on the light and it fell 
directly on the worn moire lining and engraved backs of 
the ivory brushes. Isoel became aware that her com- 
panions were whispering, their heads together. At once 
she guessed they had marked the famous coronet ! 

Patty had tied a tight string round the bag of ginger- 
nuts, a parting attention from herself, and the knot re- 
fused to come undone. Isoel drew out the case contain- 
ing scissors and other trifles, the train gave a sudden 
lurch and a thimble spun out on to the floor. It rolled 
across in a circle and disappeared under Judy’s feet. She 
dived for it but failed to find it. Isoel rose, approach- 
in her. 

“ Perhaps, if you would stand up — I’m sorry to give 
you the trouble.” 

Her voice was frigid. She balanced herself in the 
swaying carriage, one hand on the rack. 

Bella was peering at the carpet in an ineffectual anxious 
way. 

“ It went there. I saw it roll. An umbrella ? ” she 
gazed wildly round her. 

Meanwhile Judy was on her feet. She produced from 
out of her waistcoat pocket a silver match-box, struck 
a light and, sheltering it with her capable hands, stooped 
briskly and illumined the dusty space under the seat. 

“ It’s in that corner. Hold hard! No need to blacken 
your hands. A stick’s the thing.” She reached up and 
dragged that article out of the rugs. 


64 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Her manner had changed, brusque but friendly. WitK 
the crooked handle she fished for the thimble, scooped 
it forth and picking it up laid it in IsoH’s pink palm. 

“ There ! ” She smiled, keen, dark eyes on the pretty 
face of the owner. 

“ Thank you so much,^' said Isoel sweetly. She was 
glad that the ice was broken. “It has a mania for get- 
ting lost. It’s only a trifle, but I prize it.” 

She went back to her seat and replaced the truant in 
its pocket. 

“ I’ve not much use for thimbles myself,” said Judy 
with a jolly laugh. “This is more in my line.” She 
produced a silver cigarette-case. “ I wonder, would you 
mind if I smoked?” 

“ Not at all.” 

“ Will you have one yourself?” 

“ No, thanks.” 

“Not a weakness of yours?” Judy struck another: 
match. 

“I’m not really fond of it, though I have smoked 
occasionally.” She was anxious to keep up the conversa- 
tion, attracted by this masculine creature, despite her first 
adverse impression. Eccentric but obviously well born. 
She cast about her for a topic and her eyes returned to 
her dressing-bag. 

Should she put to the test its value as a link with 
aristocratic connections ? 

The fantastic idea appealed to her. 

“ I suppose it would have terribly shocked the dear 
old cousin who gave me this.” She fingered the worn 
plated lock, underneath the morocco handle. “ This bag 
was hers as a girl — or rather as a young bride — in the 
days of samplers and crinolines. Times have changed 
since then.” 

“ Yes, thank heaven! ” said Judy promptly. 

Bella put in her feeble oar : 

“ It would be very interesting if the thimble could tell 
us its history.” 

Isoel caught Judy’s eye and smiled. 

“ I think it would be quite discreet. Lady Manister 
could trust it not to give away ancient secrets 1 ” 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 65 

Judy inhaled a whiff of smoke and blew it out through 
her nostrils. 

“ Your cousin? ’’ 

Isoel nodded her head, avoiding the spoken lie. She 
had forgotten Sir Abel’s advice to bluff rarely, for high 
stakes. The name had slipped out unconsciously ; she re- 
solved to elaborate the story. 

^ “ I used to live with her,’’ she said. ‘‘ She was very 
kind to me as a child and I missed her dreadfully when 
she died.” 

Bella sighed. 

Yes, I expect so.” 

Isoel felt reassured. She had noticed already that the 
label on the wicker basket was marked Verona. It was 
unlikely that she would meet these “ ships passing in the 
night” again during her stay at Venice. She nibbled a 
hard ginger-bread, still aware of her craving for food. 

“ Do you happen to know when they serve dinner? I 
mean, in the restaurant car.” 

“ I don’t. We’re getting off before. Have you come 
a long journey to-day? ” 

“ From London.” Isoel responded. “ I shall be glad 
when I get to Venice.” 

“ I should think you would,” Judy agreed, crossing her 
legs with a generous expanse of bony limb in a knitted 
stocking above the long, well-fitting spat. “ I loathe 
trains. Years ago I tramped down into Italy over the 
Mont Cenis pass. That’s the way to see the country ! ” 
She sighed at the recollection. “ But my sister’s not up 
to it. We’ve been in Switzerland all the summer — were 
there in fact when the war broke out — and we’re making 
our way by a roundabout route to Rome and later on to 
Naples. I don’t think Italy will come in, do you? They 
hate Austria, but unless Germany plays up and gives them 
some valid excuse they’re bound by that old Triple Alli- 
ance. What’s it like in London now ? ” 

“ It doesn’t seem to have altered much, except at night : 
the darkened streets, and a steady rise in the price of food. 
Still it’s very depressing: bad news, fogs and damp — et 
tout le reste! I’m very glad to be out of it.” She felt 
she was playing her part with ease. 


66 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


“ And you’re going to Venice? Where do you stop? ** 
At a place called the Pension Marini. Cook’s rec- 
ommended it. It’s in the Fondamenta San Vio.” 

“ Why, that’s where Christabel is staying ! ” Bella 
broke in, full of excitement. “ You know, Judy, Marion’s 
girl, the second one who’s just left school. I believe she’s 
going in for Art. She’s there with an aunt, a Mrs. 
Reece.” 

“Christabel?” Judy yawned. “Is that the leggy 
one, like a colt? Shouldn’t think that she could paint.” 
She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “We shall be 
there in five minutes. I’d better get those things off the 
rack.” 

She proceeded to do so, stacking them on the floor 
and seats, whilst Bella fussed, with a warning as to the 
weight of a certain suit-case, bursting its locks and secured 
by a strap. 

“ We might come on to Venice later,” Judy resumed, 
ignoring her sister after a brief: “ Heavy? Not it! — • 
Depends on how we like Verona. I’ve always had to 
skip it before for want of time. I don’t think now I 
shall find the atmosphere absorbing. Too much Romeo 
and Juliet! ” 

She pulled her waistcoat down with a jerk and settled 
the neat Hamburg hat more firmly on her head, stuck her 
eyeglass into her eye and gave Isoel a look so droll and 
full of understanding, that the girl loved her at that min- 
ute. 

The train slackened speed abruptly. 

“ Well,” Judy extended her hand, “ I’m glad to have 
met you. So long. You’ll be able to close all the win- 
dows now ! ” Her eyes twinkled maliciously but she held 
Isoel’s fingers clasped in her own with a friendly pres- 
sure. “ I really thought you were French, you know.” 

It was an apology of sorts. 

“ So I am. On my mother’s side.” IsoH laughed 
back. “ Though my father was in the English Navy.” 

“ Mine too ! ” responded Judy. “ What’s your name ? ” 

“ IsoH Dark.” 

“ Judy, dear, we must get out.” Bella was pulling at 
her coat. “ And I can’t see a single porter ! ” 

“ All right. No need to fuss.” The “ man of the 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


67 


party ’’ thrust her head through the corridor window, 
yelled '' Facchino!'' and came back. ‘‘You get down. 
Mind how you go ! ” She steered the sheep-like lady 
through the doorway and over the deep step. “ Now, 
stand there, and don’t get lost! I’ll heave the baggage 
out.” 

After the last of it was lowered, she turned for a part- 
ing friendly glance. 

“ Tell Christabel Price you’ve met me. Judith Dal- 
gleish. She’ll remember. Coming, Bella I ” 

She was gone, big-boned and capable, as a faint bleat 
came out of the dark : 

“ Judy, I’m sure there’ll be no cabs ! ” 


CHAPTER VII 


I SOEL awakened late and looked round her with cu- 
rious eyes. At the bare cold floor with its bright rug 
on either side of the double bed, the porcelain stove 
in the corner next to the tiny washing-stand, all lit by am- 
ber rays that filtered through the closed shutters and 
danced in a pattern across her feet where a monster duvet 
in red cotton was thrown back over the rail. 

From outside rose a musical cry, Ohe . . . ! 
Ohe ... ! ” and the soft cool splash of an oar dipping 
into water ihat gurgled up beneath the bow of a passing 
boat on the canal. 

Venice ! 

She sat upright in bed and threw the hair out of her 
eyes. Stretching her arm out for her watch she found 
that the hands pointed to eight. But she did not ring for 
her coflee at once; she sank back again to recapture the 
wonder of the night before. 

The modern station, so disappointing with posters and 
automatic machines, hurrying porters and bustle of Cus- 
toms and then that quick step into a night radiant with 
a thousand stars, with the Grand Canal stretched before 
her, the low mysterious gondolas and the first delicious 
sweep forward over silent waters, reflecting the lights be- 
tween the veiled white palaces. 

Here was Romance that soared to the heights of all the 
dreams of her lonely girlhood. It was tinged soon with a 
touch of fear as they left the broad waterwayandplunged 
into a narrow cutting between houses that rose like reeds 
out of the slumbering water itself, with only a strip of the 
starry sky far away overhead. The silence seemed in- 
tensified, and a perilous sense of adventure seized her as 
the silver prow cut its way through the warm darkness 
and disappeared in the indigo shadows of a bridge. 

When they reached their destination and she crossed the 
narrow fondamenta to ring the bell nervously with a 

68 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


69 


glance up at the closed shutters, despite the beauty of the 
night she drew a breath of thankfulness as the door 
opened and she saw a little old woman with wrinkled face, 
toothless, a shawl enshrouding her head, holding a primi- 
tive oil lamp. 

Upstairs lights shone out and steps resounded. A sharp 
voice called for the absent hall-porter, as the gondolier, 
his swarthy face like a brigand’s in the fitful glimmer, 
bumped her luggage down in the hall and gossiped with 
the concierge. 

She made her way up the stone stairs and was wel- 
comed in an ante-room by a brisk young person who 
spoke broad Scotch and introduced herself as Miss Flin- 
ders, Signora Marini’s secretary. 

The “ Signora ” had gone to bed as she was tired. 
Miss Dark would excuse her. Would she like anything 
to take after her journey? A little wine? 

But Isoel longed for one thing alone — sleep! She 
confessed to it. Miss Flinders smiled and led the way 
down a narrow paved corridor with numbered doors on 
either side and threw one open. 

“ This is your room. As you see, it is a double one 
but all we have vacant just now. It will be ten lire a day 
— to include pension, of course — not counting fires or 
lights. We make a small charge for candles or 3.50 a 
week for a lamp.” She rattled it off with her Northern 
burr. “ The luggage will be coming up in a minute. You 
have a pleasant view, looking out on the canal. Will 
you pay the gondolier yourself, or shall we book it ? ” 

Her round, plump face with its high cheek-bones, 
stained by colour in circular patches, and dark hair, 
primly arranged, made IsoH think of a Dutch doll; not 
perhaps in its first youth but a little battered by conflict 
with life. 

Here was a woman capable, close-fisted, yet not un- 
kindly. She showed this in her next remark : 

“You had better not be called to-morrow — unless 
you wish it? You must be tired. The trains are very 
unfortunate, this arrival in Venice close on midnight.” 

“ But such an arrival ! ” Isoel smiled. “ I wouldn’t 
have missed it for anything. One’s first glimpse in the 
dark — the silence and the mystery.” 


70 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Miss Flinders nodded, unsympathetic. She had heard 
these raptures so often before. 

“ Then Fll say good night, if you’ve all you require ? ” 
She gave a sharp glance around and was off, her slippers 
tapping along the polished stone of the corridor. 

The rest had passed in a mist of sleep. IsoH had 
been too tired to unpack more than the things for the 
night. The bed was delicious, as all beds are in a country 
where the mattresses are remade every year and exposed, 
whenever the room is cleaned, to the warmth of the sun 
■at the open window. 

Now, as she snuggled against the pillows and watched 
the light shimmering in through the latticed shutters, 
Isoel thought of the room she had left in smoke-dimmed 
London, heavy with fog and invaded by smuts. 

“ Poor old Patty ! ” She rang the bell. “ I must get 
up and explore. It seems too wonderful to be here ! ” 

A smiling chambermaid answered the summons. 

Buon giornoj Signorina! '' She placed a diminutive jug 
of hot water on the narrow washing-stand. Isoel had 
time to admire the graceful figure, rounded bust, and the 
blue-black waves of her hair, piled in a glossy knot on 
her head. 

She asked for her dejeuner in French. The girl seemed 
to understand. 

” Sis signorina. Suhito!^’ She nodded, with a flash 
of teeth, white and pointed, that emphasized the glowing 
pallor of her face, as warm in note as any colour and lit 
by her dark expressive eyes. 

Isoel, left alone, jumped out of bed, and athirst for 
knowledge, found the pocket dictionary she had bought 
for the great adventure. 

Subito ” was translated there as suddenly.” She 
had yet to learn the elastic properties of that reassuring 
word. 

“ Then it’s no good dressing first.” She threw on her 
long travelling coat and opened the shutters, warm to her 
touch ; then blinked, in the sudden glare. 

Beneath her shone the still canal with a little bridge 
over which a slender dark-faced fisherman was moving 
with a leisurely step, a basket poised upon his head. His 
shirt was open, exposing a throat burnt a chestnut brown 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


71 


by the sun, and round his waist was a cummerbund of a 
deep glowing Madonna blue. He passed underneath the 
window. The basket was full of some curious creatures 
with long tentacles that glistened, still wet from the sea. 

Down the narrow thread of water came a wide and 
shallow market-boat piled with little red tomatoes, green 
stuff and yellow pumpkins, rowed by a swarthy individual 
who gripped the boards with his bare feet and thrust the 
oar, facing the bows ; now erect, now bent forward, with 
a slow, monotonous, rhythmical stroke. 

A group of children were playing about the steps on 
the further side, in ragged clothes, relieved from squalor 
by the faded colours that caught the light and blended 
into the dazzling picture; and, as if to add the sombre 
note that was missing, a priest, lean and sallow, his brev- 
iary open in his hand, paced with his shuffling heavy 
step in his black sottana close to the houses. 

The shrill whistle of a steamer sounded away on IsoH’s 
right. Leaning out, her coat held tightly round her, 
her eyes swept across another pair of narrow bridges to 
where, at the end of the canal, the flecked dancing waters 
met in the wide stretch by the Zattere. Between the blue 
of water and sky she could make out a hazy strip of land 
packed with shadowy houses, warm with the red of 
ancient bricks. 

“ I must go out ! ” She began to hunt feverishly for 
the things she needed, frowning a little as she placed her 
ivory brushes on the top of the chest of drawers which 
seemed to serve as well for a dressing-table. 

Her thoughts had turned to Judy Dalgleish. In the 
clear light of the morning, she regretted the story that 
she had woven around Lady Manister. 

'' But perhaps they’ll stay on at Verona. With Romeo 
and Juliet ! ” She laughed as she recalled the speech. 
What an odd character she was, that big-boned masculine 
creature with her timorous old maid of a sister. It 
seemed impossible to believe that they could have had the 
same parents. They ought to have been shaken up to- 
gether, she thought, as she brushed out her hair before an 
unwieldy looking-glass that either bowed to meet the table 
or swung back against the wall. 

Stefanina tapped at the door and came in with her 


72 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


coffee and rolls. With the easy familiarity of the Italian 
serving classes that yet is so innocent of offence, she lin- 
gered to admire the wealth of IsoH’s honey-coloured 
locks, 

“ The Signorina carries a fortune upon her head, like 
a saint’s halo ! She has brought the fine weather too ! 
All last week it rained and rained. Dio! One would say 
the flood. And in Venice one has enough of water!” 
She shrugged her shoulders contemptuously. “ Me, I am 
born in Firenze. There’s a city, if you like! Gay and 
full of beautiful shops. The Signorina knows it per- 
haps ? ” 

IsoH looked distressed. She could not follow the quick 
speech, though a word or two of its meaning reached 
her. The girl laughed and retired with a parting encour- 
agement, airing her own small store of English : 

“ Mees understan’ soona ! ” 

Isoel sincerely hoped so. 

The bells were pealing out ten o’clock as she made her 
way downstairs, through, what seemed to be, a deserted 
house, and out on to the sunny pavement. 

She turned to the right instinctively, drawn by the 
view of the Giudecca that looked fairy-like and alluring 
through the narrow vista of the rio. 

When she reached the Zattere she mounted the bridge 
that spanned the canal and stood for a moment drinking 
in the blue expanse and the narrow island, like a long fish 
with rosy scales basking in the sparkling water. 

San Giorgio was its gleaming head and, far to the 
right, some dark chimneys suggested a flicker of its tail, 
lost among a sea of shipping. 

She could feel the warm rays of the sun beating down 
upon her shoulders, but the air was crisp from off the 
lagoons, stung with salt and exhilarating. 

It gave her a zest for exercise and she moved on up 
the broad pavement interested in the boats that thronged 
the various landing-places. A barge with a burnt orange 
sail drifted past and everywhere the black note of the gon- 
dolas added its distinctive touch. 

Passing the house where Ruskin lived she came at 
length to the Dogana, that Custom House which apes a 
temple, with its shining columns and, far above, the gilded 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


73 

figure of Fortuna, lightly turning with every puff of the 
fitful breeze on its poised globe. 

Here was a view that quickened her breath ; the heart 
of Venice bared before her. 

She could see, beyond the glittering Molo and the lace- 
like Ancient Library, the Campanile straining up to pierce 
the cloudless dome of the heavens and, still further, the 
Doge’s Palace with the Ponte di Paglia, dotted with little 
moving figures, the water alive with busy craft. 

Where should she go? She seemed to have come to 
the end of her own particular island, and she glanced 
at the guide-book in her hand. Baedeker advised St. 
Mark’s. 

She moved down to the edge of the pavement and hailed 
a picturesque gondolier who was smiling at her with an 
eye to business. A dirty old man shuffled forward like 
a crab and thrust out his iron claw to grip the boat, 
assisting her in to her secret disgust, a greedy hand out- 
stretched promptly for the rampino's perquisite. 

Isoel overpaid him and gave the oarsman her direc- 
tions. 

“ San Marco? ” His eyes sharpened, scanning her fair 
excited face. Deliberately he propelled the boat in the 
opposite direction ; past the Salute, bathed in shadows, and 
down the broad Grand Canal. 

Isoel, a little puzzled, leaned back against the cushions, 
too lazy to protest. She soon lost all sense of direction 
as they turned into narrow waterways, between crumbling 
palaces, with faded coats of arms on the posts and multi- 
coloured ragged clothing hanging out of the higher win- 
dows ; under bridges arched and pointed with glimpses of 
gardens tucked away behind old walls splashed with roses 
and delicate clusters of wistaria. 

They emerged at last on the open space in front of 
Santi Giovanni e Paolo. The gondolier, confident of his 
fare’s utter ignorance, paused on his oar to point out the 
famous Colleoni statue. On again until they reached the 
long Rio del Palazzo and the Bridge of Sighs linking the 
prison with the fairy-like walls of the Doge’s Palace. 
Then out to the dancing sea and here the gondolier 
seemed to lose all control over himself. Shouting, joking, 
gesticulating, he wedged the high silver prow into the 


74 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


congested mass of boats that swarmed round the Piaz- 
zetta. 

At last IsoH found herself safe on land, with a sigh of 
relief. Haggling ensued. The gondolier held out for 
three lire, supported by his parasite, another crab-like 
individual. She could not understand a word save the 
reiterated price, three dirty agitated fingers thrust within 
a foot of her face. 

She gave in at last with a laugh, intoxicated by the sun- 
shine and the gay movement on all sides. 

Her eyes instinctively mounted up to the winged lion 
overhead on its granite column, turning its back, for some 
unknown reason to the sea, and to its neighbour St. Theo- 
dore balanced on his crocodile. 

The noise of a steamer churning up fussily to the little 
pier made her glance behind her again and suddenly she 
realized that here she stood on the very scene she had 
gazed upon from the Dogana. 

There, just across the water, were the white columns 
and the globe upheld by the pair of giants. 

After a moment of vexation at the trick played by the 
gondolier, she laughed aloud. It was too funny ! 

A man, passing, stared at her and turned again for an- 
other look. She made such a vivid picture of youth 
in the Spring sunshine, standing there, with her head 
thrown back, her sparkling eyes, lips parted, a-quiver 
with mirth. 

Where had he seen that face before? He walked on 
with puzzled brows and turned slowly into St. Mark’s. 

Unwittingly she followed him, her mind absorbed by 
the wealth of mosaic, the fluttering pigeons, the sense of 
colour, and the unreality of this dream borrowed from 
the glowing East. 

Before she entered the vestibule she glanced up at the 
faqade and the parapet with the golden horses. She reg- 
istered a childish vow to find her way there later on, 
envying the strutting birds, preening themselves high 
above her, the sheen of their breasts softly blue against 
the dazzling white of the marble. 

Then she passed into the church ; into a new atmos- 
phere. Cool and shadowy and imbued with the mystery 
of her own religion, it sank slowly into her soul. Her 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


75 

hand stole out to the holy water ; she crossed herself rev- 
erently. 

But slowly the feeling of aw'e lightened, giving place 
to curiosity. Tiptoe, she began to explore, pausing now 
to gaze at an altar set with jewels and plates of gold or 
wrapped in admiration before spiral columns of alabaster. 
New treasures at every step: a wonderland of mosaic, 
of glittering pictures that lit up the domes as she followed 
the story of the Creation down to that of the Deluge, de- 
lighted with the fantastic beasts and Noah carrying in 
the leopards. 

At last, worn out. she sank down on a chair near the 
centre door. A couple of tourists brushed past her and 
she heard one say cheerfully : 

“ Waal, I guess we’ve done it now! All except those 
galleries and to write our names on the golden horses.’' 

Her earlier wish returned to her, and following closely 
in their wake she mounted the staircase and stepped out 
into the glare of the hot daylight. 

She found the gallery invaded by a crowd of visitors 
grouped around a guide who was holding forth at length 
on the history, from the days of Nero, of these eques- 
trian spoils of war. 

Isoel listened for a time, but wearied of the strident 
voice. Slipping past, she made her way to the farther 
end where she leaned against the parapet, enjoying the 
vivid scene below, aware of the ceaseless beat of wings. 
Pigeons, emboldened by her silence, fluttered round her 
and at last, to her inward delight, one settled down on 
her arm, its pink feet clutching her sleeve, bright eyes 
surveying her with the eager glance of a hardened beg- 
gar. 

In the square beneath they were being fed by the 
ever-indulgent strangers to Venice. 

“ I can’t give you any, ma belle” she whispered. 
“ But ril come again, my pockets full of grain for you.” 

She had this end of the gallery to herself save for a 
quiet figure, that of a man, on a broken-backed chair, 
discarded from the church within. 

He was reading a book, legs crossed, hat drawn for- 
ward over his brow; an Englishman, she decided, after 
^a stealthy glance at him. 


76 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Her eyes returned to the gay Piazza and fell upon the 
big clock. It was time to start on her homeward jour- 
ney or she would be late for the pension lunch. Regret- 
fully she retraced her steps, aware that her solitary 
companion had raised his head and was watching her 
and that distinctive graceful walk. Not averse to ad- 
miration, on reaching the door she glanced back in time 
to see him rise to his feet and move to the parapet. 

“ If you think Fm going to look up, mon cher, when 
I cross the square, you’re mistaken ! ” She smiled to 
herself as she ran downstairs. “ Now, how to get back? 
Shall I try the steamer? I’d sooner walk if it’s possi- 
ble. There must be a way if one only knew.” 

Passing out she heard again an American voice and 
addressed the speaker, one of an elderly pair of ladies, 
and listened to their kindly directions. 

She must go through the arch, right there,” on up 
‘‘ the Merceria,” take the first turning to the left and 
the first to the right, over a bridge, and follow the canal 
before her until she reached a large square with a 
church in it and very soon, they “ guessed ” she’d see 
the Grand Canal. Then over “ the Iron Bridge ” and 
after that it was “ easy,” though they seemed themselves 
a little vague as to where her particular rio lay. 

They accepted her thanks smilingly. 

“ It’s some place to find your way in ! But if you get 
lost your best plan is to make for the nearest big canal 
and wait for a gondola.” 

Isoel, warming to the adventure, passed under the 
Clock Tower repeating the somewhat confused advice. 
As she emerged in the busy street she met a pair of 
young Venetians who stared at her with their bold, dark 
eyes and murmured some obvious compliment. She 
quickened her steps, her head high, but presently, as she 
came abreast with a shop, gay with strings of beads, 
coral and shells and coloured glass, she paused to gaze 
into the windows, attracted by the necklaces. 

A voice breathed in her ear. Startled, she glanced up 
and saw that the two youths had followed her and were 
hemming her in on either side. 

She stepped back, with flushed cheeks, furious, and 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 77 

mixed in the crowd, loitering down the long causeway, 
that meeting-place beloved of Venice. 

Moving rapidly through the throng she managed to 
shake off her tormentors, too indolent in the sunshine 
to pursue beauty at such a pace. 

“ In the broad daylight too ! ” she fumed, unaware 
that in Italy, a pretty girl, unchaperoned, is marked out 
for such attentions. 

She was glad to take that “ first turning ” and leave 
the Merceria behind her, finding herself in a narrow 
calle bathed in shadows, empty and cool. 

Down this she walked quickly. Once she turned and 
glanced back. A man was following in her wake with 
a long energetic stride, clad in a loose suit of flannels. 
She recognized the Englishman who had watched her 
from the parapet. Already upset by the contretemps 
in the hot and crowded main street, Isoel began to re- 
sent those determined steps which rang on her ears with 
the same persistence as she crossed a little campo and 
turned to the right, already confused in her directions. 

She tried to reassure herself. No doubt he, too, was 
on his way to the Grand Canal by this known short cut. 
But as she flitted over a bridge she darted another back- 
ward glance and caught the shadow of a smile on the 
long grave face with its clipped moustache. Determined 
to put him to the test she forsook her route deliberately 
and wheeled again to the right, down a narrow passage 
where the houses seemed to meet above her head. 
Gloomy, and dirty underfoot, with the mouldy smell that 
hangs about Venice wherever the sun is banished, it 
filled her with a faint horror. A withered hag, crouch- 
ing down on a greasy doorstep tried to stop her, hand 
outstretched, whining for alms, and above the venomous 
old voice she caught the steady “beat, beat,” of well- 
made boots growing nearer. 

“ He too ! ” She breathed quickly. Indignation and 
wounded pride lent wings to her little feet. She longed 
to run, but dignity forbade the semblance of a flight. On 
she pattered, her high heels ringing sharply against the 
stones, worn and hollow, of the pavement and emerged 
at last on a tiny square, with a trattoria and an oil-shop 


78 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


and the welcome sight of running water. If this should 
lead to a broader canal patronized by gondoliers, all 
would be well ! 

She turned down the narrow path that fringed the 
stream, which had a stagnant unused look, under the 
shadow of warped houses that grew more squalid with 
every step. A rough-looking man emerged from a door- 
way with an evil glance and her heart quickened. Her 
strength, too, was beginning to wane. She knew that 
her anger was giving place to a sense of panic and help- 
lessness. Before her she saw a sharp corner where an- 
other canal crossed her own and her hope revived. She 
swung round it and stopped dead, utterly baffled. 

The path had vanished ! 

Beneath her feet a flight of mouldy steps led down to 
the water's edge. On either hand it lapped the walls of 
the dark old houses and stretched away in a hopeless 
vista, broken by a series of bridges. 


CHAPTER VIII 


^^T^XCUSE me” 

M Isoel turned, her cheeks flushed, eyes dark 
1 with helpless anger and contempt. 

The Englishman stood before her, panting a little as 
though the speed of the pursuit had told upon him. 
Broad-shouldered and strongly built, his great height 
carried off any suggestion of clumsiness. His lean, 
slightly saturnine face was lit up by a pleasant smile, and 
this added the fatal spark to the girl’s smouldering re- 
sentment. 

“ How dare you ? ” She waved him aside with a 
scornful gesture, her head high. “ You ought to be 
ashamed of yourself. English too ! You can’t deny 
it!” 

Why — should I ? ” He stared at her, his speech 
jerky, catching his breath. And, suddenly he began to 
cough; cough like a man in the grip of consumption. 
The spasm tore him. He fought for air, eyes distended, 
his virile face patched with colour, almost choking. 

She watched him, paralysed herself by the frenzy of 
the sharp attack, fascinated by the horror of seeing a 
strong man battle for breath. 

“ Sorry I ” he gasped out at last. ** Didn’t mean — ^ 
Only this.” He held out a small red guide-book. 
“You left it on — the parapet.” 

Isoel gazed at the object, amazed. It was her miss- 
ing Baedeker ! 

A wave of shame succeeded her first impulse of anger. 
She coloured up to the roots of her hair, biting her 
lips nervously. What a mortifying mistake! She took 
it from him without a word. Her eyes were lowered; 
she dared not meet the amusement she guessed would 
lurk in his. 

To her relief he broke the silence. 

“ I’m afraid — you thought me — impertinent ? ” His 
speech was hoarse and staccato. “ But it seemed — a 
79 


8o 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


pity — you should lose it. I tried to catch you up be- 
fore. But Em rather a crock — just now.” 

As if in support of his contention a fresh fit of cough- 
ing seized him. 

Now, in alarm, she raised her eyes and pity conquered 
her resentment. 

Could this be a victim of phthisis? This splendidly 
built, vigorous man? 

Between his spasms he read the fear on the girl’s 
pretty upturned face. 

“Don't be — frightened! Pass soon,” he choked out 
in apology. Meanwhile, he cursed himself for this pub- 
lic exhibition of weakness. “ Oh, damn 1 ” She heard 
him mutter as he pressed his handkerchief to his lips. 

“ Please dont talk.” She found her voice. “ I’m so 
sorry. It’s all my fault! If only I’d known — I didn’t 
guess — and I’d been so annoyed already, by some per- 
fectly hateful Italians ! ” She paused as she realized 
the lack of wisdom in this confession and promptly de- 
scended to a fib. “ I was really running away from 
them! And then, finding I was lost, I hardly knew 
what I was saying.” She wound up, suddenly prim. 
“ I’m very much obliged to you.” 

His cough had ceased, but now weakness succeeded 
the bitter struggle. He leant up against the wall of the 
house beside him, his eyes half closed, the colour ebbing 
from his face. 

She looked at him anxiously. 

“ I wish I could get you something to take. Perhaps 
if I went back to that inn by the bridge they might have 
some brandy?” 

The word seemed to stir the man out of his silent 
lethargy. His hand fumbled with his coat and found 
in a pocket a battered flask. 

“ Good — idea ! ” He tried to smile, but his fingers 
shook as he played with the stopper. 

“ Let me do it.” She took the flask, opened it and 
poured out the spirit into the silver cup. “ Neat? ” 

He nodded. 

“ Old offender ! ” he volunteered. 

Standing on tiptoe she reached up and held it to the 
parched lips. 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


8i 


Thanks.” He drank obediently, gasping as it stung 
his throat. 

‘‘ There now, you’ll soon feel better.” The role of 
Good Samaritan appealed to her. Her quick eyes had 
noted the ring upon his finger, a heavy signet with a 
crest. She began to wonder who he was. 

Of gentle birth assuredly. The way his clothes hung 
on him, loose-fitting but well cut, pointed the fact. 
They seemed to be a part of him, as unconsciously easy 
as his bearing, yet touched by a soldierly precision. 

Meanwhile his deadly faintness passed. Under the 
stimulant his face assumed a healthier colour, his eyes 
lost their strained expression. 

He opened his lips to speak but she checked him. 

“You shouldn’t talk.” Her voice was gentle. “Just 
keep still. I understand. When my mother was ill 
with pleurisy I remember she was just the same. So 
exhausted afterwards. And it must be harder for a 
man.” 

He gave her a quick grateful look. How pretty she 
was standing there with that grave and pitiful expres- 
sion, her profile clear against the water, shadowed by 
the gloomy houses. The air of decay that hung about 
the mouldy and deserted rio seemed to emphasize her 
youth and the grace of her rounded figure. 

“ I’m quite all right.” His voice was stronger. 
“Thanks to you. You’re awfully kind.” 

She smiled back, inwardly relieved by this quick re- 
covery. Then she turned her head with a start, gaz- 
ing across the line of bridges. From far away came the 
sound of an oar dipping softly into water. 

With the movement an ear-ring had swung outwards to 
fall against her cheek, a long drop of pale green jade. 
The man’s grey eyes dwelt upon it witb a puzzled expres- 
sion. Then they cleared. It touched a chord of mem- 
ory: that tedious hour spent at Clotilde’s with Tory 
Serocold on the day when Ernest’s ship went down in the 
Narrows. His sister’s anxiety and relief over her sailor 
husband’s escape had driven the incident from his mind. 
But here, in the flesh, stood the girl, the mannequin who 
had caught his fancy. 

What a curious coincidence! 


82 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


He remembered now that the first glimpse he had 
caught of her in the Piazzetta had seemed familiar: 
those glowing eyes, cold young lips, and the perfect 
figure. 

“ It is a gondola ! ” Her voice with its faintly-for- 
eign accent stirred him. “ Empty, too. Now, isn’t that 
luck ? She pointed a slender hand downstream. 

“ Then we aren’t hopelessly lost? ” he suggested. 

‘‘ You’re better ! ” She spoke with simple triumph. 
She had assumed the motherly air of a woman of forty 
and with it the power that every daughter of Eve ac- 
quires when dealing with a sick man. “ I was wonder- 
ing how I’d get you home.” 

“Were you thinking of carrying me?” he laughed. 
The smile died out of her pretty face and he went on 
rather quickly, “ I’m not really an invalid — which 
sounds ungrateful! I don’t mean that. I’m awfully 
obliged to you.” He saw that he had made a mistake. 

“ I don’t think you ought to talk.” Her voice was 
cool. 

Leaning forward she beckoned to the approaching 
boat. 

“ But I want to make up for loss of time.” His eyes 
twinkled as he watched her and her little assumption of 
dignity, this very sedate mannequin ! “ In a moment or 

two you’ll be swept away in that gondola and I’ve hardly 
thanked you.” 

“ Oh ! ” She glanced up, surprised. “ But it’s for 
you,” she explained simply. 

“Certainly not. Unless you’ll share it?” He smiled 
down at her from his height with a masterful air, and 
added, in mischief, “ Besides, I’m not well enough to 
be left.’; 

“ I think you are,” she said coldly. 

She beckoned to the gondolier, who quickened his 
stroke, bending forward, pleased to find a customer on 
his route back to the main canals. 

“ I say, you’re not offended, are you ? ” The boyish 
question pierced her guard and divining this he went on 
in a graver voice, “ You don’t think I’d go away and 
leave you stranded, by yourself, to find your way out of 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 83 

the maze, after all your kindness to me? I can walk 
home easily.’^ 

He had given her the chance she wanted. 

“ I shouldn’t allow it.” She spoke sedately. “If 
you’d take me as far as the Grand Canal — ” She 
moved on to the flight of steps, leaving the remark un- 
finished. 

“ That’s awfully nice of you.” He meant it, though 
the insidious thought followed. “ I wish Tory could 
see me now! Wouldn’t she be scandalized?” 

Isoel glanced back over her shoulder. 

“ Can you manage, all alone ? ” 

“ Rather — thanks. Take care of those steps. 
They’re slippery. Wait a second 1 ” 

Following her, he held out his hand. 

“ As a sign of forgiveness ? ” He whispered the 
words. 

The gondolier was gazing up with curious eyes, his 
boat moored,. beneath the pair, where he stood grasping 
a ring in the wall. 

But Isoel disdained assistance. 

“ I’m all right.” She stepped in and settled herself 
against the cushions, drawing her skirts tightly round 
her to make room for her companion. Nothing loath he 
sank down beside her with a sigh of relief. 

The gondolier still waited. 

“Where to. Signore? '' he demanded. 

The Englishman laughed and glanced at the girl. 
She understood his mischievous scruple. He would not 
ask for her address. Aware of her silence, he broke 
the spell. 

“ I’m staying at Danieli’s,” he said. “ Can I drop 
you anywhere on the way or would you like to dispose 
of me first? ” 

“ I don’t quite know where we are. I want to get to 
the Grand Canal” — she paused — “and the Fonda- 
menta San Vio.” 

“ Then that comes first.” He gave his directions, and 
went on easily, “ at least I think so. I’ve lost my bear- 
ings but I should say that this was one of those squalid 
rios that lie somewhere behind the Rialto. It isn’t often 


84 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


I go astray. I used to live here as a boy. My father 
was David Doran, the painter; I was bom in a house 
on the Grand Canal.’^ 

“ You had good taste, as a baby.” A faint pause be- 
tween the phrases flavoured the little speech with malice. 

The man gave her an oblique glance. 

“ I certainly was a lover of beauty. I am still.” 

Isoel felt his keen eyes fixed on her face. The 
riposte amused her and quickened her wits. 

‘‘Aren’t you glad to return to Venice? To your old 
love.” Her voice was light. 

“ In some ways.” He hesitated. “ It’s not for pleas- 
ure, but health, just now, with some family business 
thrown in. I got a bullet through my lung — the right 
one, luckily — and it’s taken a long time to heal, leav- 
ing me with this tiresome cough. So long as I slack 
I’m quite well, but I’m not up to much exertion. I want 
to get back to the Front and although I love this dear 
old place I’m hardly in the mood for it.” He smiled 
down at her startled face. “ Though it’s an ideal laz- 
ing ground. It’s immoral to be energetic when one can 
lie in a gondola ! ” 

“But didn’t it hurt frightfully?” Her manner had 
changed, more friendly now: she was moved by this 
sudden reminder of war. 

“ No. Not at the time, that is. It was too exciting. 
One didn’t think. At least — ” He broke off abruptly 
and changed the subject as they turned into a wider 
channel of water. “ Look there ! Isn’t that nice ? 
Those crumbling steps and the old door with the creeper 
hanging over it. There’s a garden inside. I went 
there once, years ago. It belonged to an artist, but he 
left because of the peal of bells in that campanile fac- 
ing it.” 

She gazed, her heart in her eyes. 

“ It’s beautiful ! ” She drew in her breath. “ How 
could he leave such a lovely spot ? ” 

“ One of the bells rang flat. He said it spoilt all his 
work; that the cracked note got into his eyes until blue 
looked like green. We thought him mad, poor old chap ! 
But he went blind in the end. I expect it was creeping 
over him then. Bad luck, wasn’t it ? ” 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


85 


Terrible.” Isoel shuddered. Of all places to lose 
one's sight in, Venice seemed to her the worst. Here in 
the midst of so much beauty ! “ What became of him ? ” 
she asked. 

‘‘ Starved, I expect.” His voice was grim. ‘‘ A blind 
painter’s about as useful as a riddled soldier nowadays ! ” 

“ Ah, don’t ! ” She turned quickly, her sensitive face 
warm with pity. “You’ll get all right. I know you 
will. It’s not like a real disease.” 

Her sympathy, so genuine, touched him; yet he drew 
in his horns with the sudden virile fear that he had 
seemed to ask for pity. 

“ Of course.” His voice was nonchalant. “ I’ve been 
awfully lucky as it is. I never expected to get this leave 
against all normal regulations but they made an excep- 
tion in my favour on what are known as ‘ compassionate ’ 
grounds.” She wondered what the phrase covered. He 
went on lazily. “ I’m not in Venice only for pleasure, 
but to straighten out my father’s affairs. He left some 
earlier pictures of his with a dealer here and the man’s 
a rogue. I won’t trouble you with details but letters 
were no earthly use. It’s pretty well settled now. Ah, 
here we are ! I was right then.” 

She followed his glance as the gondola, with a warn- 
ing cry from the man at the oar, swept out into golden 
sunshine and the glitter of the Grand Canal. 

“There’s old Shylock’s rendezvous.” 

“ The Rialto ? ” she questioned eagerly. 

“ Yes, straight ahead of us. Is this your first visit 
to Venice? ” 

“ My first day,” she confessed. “ I only arrived late 
last night.” 

She leaned forward, wide-eyed, as they entered the 
shadows under the bridge. 

“ And you’re satisfied ? ” He watched her, amused. 

She did not answer for a minute, carried away by the 
scene before her; the white palaces seen by daylight, 
less ghostly than in the night, but exquisite with chis- 
elled detail, and the gay striped posts that flanked the 
steps, leading down to the vivid water. 

“ It almost hurts.” The confession escaped her. 

He nodded his head, alive himself to the dazzling 


86 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


glow of colour. His face, a little harsh in repose, soft- 
ened as he drank it in. But his eyes went back to his 
companion with a puzzled expression that matched his 
thoughts. 

She seemed to blend into the picture like some ex- 
quisite ghost of Byzantine days, the slender youthful 
grace of her and that nameless exotic touch he had 
noticed at their first meeting. She might have been a 
prize of war brought by a Doge from an Eastern land, 
some Circassian slave, still a rebel, chained to the deck 
of a painted galley. 

“ Mr. Doran ” — She broke the silence. “ That is 
your nanie, isn’t it ? Or should I say Captain Doran ? ” 
She was fearful of having made a mistake. 

“ No, I’m only a lieutenant. Well? ” He smiled lazily, 
watching her green ear-rings swing as they rocked in 
the wake of a steamer. 

“ I was wondering what one ought to pay for a gon- 
dola. Is there any tariff ? ” 

So she could be practical as well. She was proving 
an interesting study. 

“ I had an experience this morning.” She related it 
amusingly, her first acquaintance with gondoliers, turn- 
ing the laugh against herself. 

He gave her a few useful hints for dealing with these 
grasping gentry. 

“ Rogues all, but picturesque and privileged accord- 
ingly. At any rate by your sex. Guides, too. Avoid 
guides as you would the plague. They murder Ro- 
mance and bury it under dusty Facts — long recitals 
that break one’s spirit. I only know of one who’s 
sound.” 

“Yes?” She turned to him, unsuspicious, eager as 
a child for knowledge. 

“ Francis Doran, at your service.” He joined in her 
surprised laugh ; then followed up his advantage. 
“ Honestly now, you might do worse. I know every 
stick and stone of the place and I should love to show 
you round. I hope you’ll engage me on the spot ! ” 

“ After getting lost this morning? ” 

“ Oh, come now ! That’s not fair play.” He went 
on eagerly, a little surprised at himself, but his native 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


87 


obstinacy roused, “ Why not start with a trip to Murano ? 
That’s the place where they make the glass — and the 
gondolier tries to rook you that’s it’s a voyage outside 
Venice.” 

“ But, since you’ve warned me, I shall remember.” 
She was seeking for a way of escape or at least for time 
to think it over. It would not do to consent at once. 
She was careful of her dignity like all people who study 
their manners and have not solved one secret of life: 
that dignity is the unconscious essence thrown off by 
character. 

“ Besides,” Doran was talking again, “ You can look 
on the proposition as war work. I’m getting bored to 
tears alone and that is exceedingly bad for my health. 
What I need is intellectual employment and you ought 
to help a wounded soldier to win back his self-respect! 
After all we’re fellow Britons. At least — ” He 
paused in his laughing speech, recalling a certain con- 
versation. 

She was glad to change the first subject. 

‘‘ I’m half English. My mother was French. But 
my father came from Devonshire. He was a captain in 
the Navy.” 

“ The devil he was ! ” thought the man beside her, 
“ and his daughter a mannequin at Clotilde’s? Sounds 
like a fairy story.” 

For despite her genuine air of refinement there was 
something that rang untrue about her ; “ manners ” per- 
haps instead of “ a manner ” and her quick touchiness 
over trifles. 

She went on composedly : “ I quite forgot to tell you 

my name when you gave me yours. It’s Miss Dark.” 
She added, uncertainly, “ Isoel Dark,’’ in an undertone. 

“Of course!” He nearly said it aloud but just 
pulled himself up in time. “ Well then. Miss Dark, are 
you going to be kind — as ever — and take pity on me ? 
I can’t really believe somehow that this is our last trip 
together.” 

Something in the way he said it, his smiling assur- 
ance, nettled her. 

“ I hardly know my plans at present. I may not stay 
for long in Venice.” 


88 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Unrebuffed, he nodded his head. 

“ Then we’ll have to make hay while the sun shines ! 
Why not lunch with me to-morrow, and come to Mu- 
rano afterwards ? ” 

“ I’m afraid it’s quite impossible.” She watched, 
with relief, the gondolier, turn the silver prow across 
the stream and into the Fondamenta San Vio. Recog- 
nizing home waters, she glanced back and held up her 
hand. **Arretez!'' She signed to him to stop. 

Avantif he queried, white teeth flashing. 

Doran corrected the mistake. 

‘‘You get out here?” 

She nodded her head. 

“ Please.” But she did not look at him. 

“ And I’m dismissed ? ” he asked with a laugh, though 
he felt a distinct touch of pique. 

“ Oh, no. That sounds ungrateful.” He marvelled 
at her self-possession as she rose to her feet with a 
graceful movement. “ Thanked instead for all - your 
kindness, the lift home, and my Baedeker — the guide 
who murders all romance! But then, what can you ex- 
pect from a Hun?” She stepped out upon the bank, 
evading his quick attempt to help her. “ I hope you’re 
feeling quite well now ? ” 

“For the stringent tonic?” he suggested, “I’m not 
cured if that’s what you mean. Yet you won’t recon- 
sider my remedy ? ” His eyes for a moment held hers, 
against her will, on the same level as he stood beneath 
her, in the boat. “ It’s distinctly unpatriotic, you know, 
to wander about with a German. I could give you better 
credentials than that.” 

“ I can quite believe it,” she said sweetly. “ But per- 
haps I prefer to get lost.” She held out her 'hand to 
him, feeling secure on dry land, and as he shook it, she 
dared the conclusion : “ It leads to such amusing ad- 

ventures.” 

“ I’m glad you put it in the plural ; it leaves me with 
a spark of hope 1 Au revoir. Miss Dark.” He bared his 
head gallantly. 

His hair, she saw, was a raven black, cropped close 
to his well-shaped head, and he looked younger with- 
out his hat. She put him down as about thirty. The 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


89 


thick eyebrows formed a ridge over his deep-set grey 
eyes. They were keen and clever and compelling, the 
eyes of a man sure of himself. 

" Good-bye, Mr. Doran.” 

He gave her a last thoughtful glance, then directed 
the gondolier. The stream was too narrow for turn- 
ing here and the boat moved on up the canal. 

Isoel was left behind. She bit her lip, suddenly 
doubtful of the wisdom of her conduct. Had she 
snubbed him too severely? Venice was a small place; 
they were sure to meet in due course. But supposing 
he took her farewell as final? Tant pis! There were 
other men, in a world so full of gay adventures. 

When he reached the first bridge Doran turned and 
looked back. 

She gave him a friendly wave of the hand and his 
face lit up as he responded. 

That was all right then ! The spell had worked. She 
was learning to walk in these new paths where pitfalls 
gaped on either hand to catch the socially inexperienced. 

For little she guessed that Doran held the key to the 
whole mystery, and was now smiling to himself, recall- 
ing Clotilde’s establishment. Yet the girhs caprices 
puzzled him, even that last glimpse of her. 

She was walking slowly — dawdling, he guessed — 
to allow him time to disappear round the corner of the 
Zattere before she approached her mysterious address. 

“ I wouldn’t mind betting anything,” he conjectured, 
his curiosity piqued, “ that she’s staying at that pension 
where Phipps is — whatever’s the name? She’s a char- 
acter, anyhow. And she knows how to take care of 
herself. 

“ I’ll look up Phipps one of these nights ; suggest a 
game of Bridge to him. A mannequin. Good Lord! 
And sent me packing like a duchess I ” 

They swung out into the glare of the open water; 
tiny waves caught the reflection of the sun, and the 
burnished sheet made him close his eyes, pulling his hat 
over his brows. 

He could still see that figure of youth, demure yet 
provocative, artfully posed against the stones of a pal- 
ace in heavy shadow; hear her voice, with its foreign 


90 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


accent, faint yet distinctive, challenging, answer his 
mischievous “ au revoir ” with the definite word “ good- 
bye.” 

It roused all his fighting instincts. He was in that 
mood of idleness when a chance encounter with a girl 
awakes anew in a man’s mind the mystery of the oppo- 
site sex. 

What could she be doing in Venice? Was she em- 
ployed in a shop? Hardly; to be dawdling round the 
Piazzetta at that hour. Was she alone, unchaperoned? 
Or hiding an undesirable parent — a lover perhaps — at 
that withheld number? He stroked his chin reflect- 
ively. 

“Anyway,” he said to himself, “I’ve not done with 
you yet, my lady.” 

Under the lazy sensuous sun the affair had assumed 
undue proportions. 


CHAPTER IX 


X 'M so sorry to be late.” Isoel apologized to the sec- 
I retary on the threshold of the crowded dining-room, 

X where the lunch was already in full swing. “ But 
I went out and got lost.” 

“Yes, really? That often happens.” Miss Flinders 
full of cares had no soul for adventure. With the 
macaroni overcooked and Miss East’s Chianti missing! 
“This is your seat.” She pulled out a chair between 
a withered elderly lady and a lanky girl with a pig-tail. 
“ Stefanina ! ” She called the waitress, who between 
the meals was chambermaid, and ordered back the van- 
ished course. 

Isoel glanced about her. The company numbered 
twenty at most, seated on either side of a table that ran 
the whole length of the room and presided over by the 
“ Signora ” who gave her a solemn bow. 

On the opposite side in the window were a pair 
alone, a stout lady with iron-grey hair and a “ Royalty 
fringe,” almost black, that lay on her brow in a pointed 
mat, very fuzzy, and a bent, wistful old gentleman with 
pale blue eyes and a white moustache. 

Every one looked back at the girl with a hostile stare 
and the curious distrust that seems to centre round 
new-comers in the narrow confines of a pension. Isoel 
was further confused by a heaped-up plate of macaroni, 
mixed with a thick tomato sauce, slippery and hard to 
eat. 

The talk, which had momentarily ceased, started again 
in undertones, dominated by a voice which rose stead- 
ily above it. 

“ As I was saying,” the speaker resumed, “ I have 
never heard a poorer attempt. You could not call it an 
Opera. There wasn’t a single good singer.” 

Isoel, glancing down the table, saw on the Signora’s 
right a matron, with a pair of daughters, steadily laying 
down the law. She had a sleek pussy-cat face, was well 

91 


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THE BEST IN LIFE 


dressed in a tailor-made gown with big pearls in her ears. 
Evidently a personage — at least, in her own estimation. 

The place opposite her was vacant, but the visitor 
next to the empty chair, a pretty faded old creature, 
ventured a half-hearted protest. 

“ But, dear Mrs. Percival, I understood that Rosa 
Gratz was taking Santuzza’s part? At least her name 
was on the bill.” 

“ Was that the breathless peasant in pink who sang 
with a tremolo like a drum ? ” the elder daughter chimed 
in. She laughed, as she spoke, contemptuously. 

Isoel, watching her narrowly, felt one of those sudden 
dislikes which are based on instinct rather than reason. 
Yet the girl was good-looking in her way, with her 
mother’s crinkly, russet hair, a high colour, hot brown 
eyes and full discontented lips. Over-ripe, Isoel 
thought, and still attached to the parent tree. 

‘‘ Yes. I did not care for her voice. And as for the 
tenor he was hopeless,” Mrs. Percival decided. I can’t 
think where they find such people.” 

The pretty old neighbour refused to be crushed. 

“ I’m afraid it’s a fact that in this country, which one 
always considers the home of song, artistes are shame- 
fully underpaid. Isn’t it so, cara Signora?^* She ap- 
pealed to the listening hostess. 

That worthy, with tact, evaded the issue. She 
thought that Mrs. Percival had been unfortunate in the 
night. The companies varied from week to week. 

Here the lady with the fringe at the side table entered 
the lists. 

‘‘ I don’t suppose it’s any worse than we get in the 
provinces at home. Outside Leeds and Birmingham and 
a few of our larger towns where they hold annual fes- 
tivals, there’s no real music except in London.” 

Mrs. Percival raised her head with its plaited coronet 
of hair, once red, now a curious blend of granite and 
silver, aggressively. 

“ And what about Worcester ? ” Her voice was tart. 
** Perhaps Mrs. Brace has never been there.” The tone 
suggested that the gates had been closed in the face of 
the Colonel’s wife, banished for ever from Paradise. 

** I’ve never stayed in the town itself,” Mrs. Brace met 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


93 


the attack. ‘‘ But weVe passed through it, haven’t we, 
Jim? When we went to stay with the Ogilvy- Fishers.” 

“ Yes, my dear,” said her husband. He knew that his 
wife whom he adored had quietly scored and his old eyes 
twinkled. 

They both disliked Mrs. Percival and called her in 
private “ Worcester Sauce,” with that tendency to invent 
nicknames which seems to flourish in boarding-houses. 

Now the Ogilvy-Fishers were well-known people. 
Mrs. Percival had lived for many years within the Close 
and was assuredly of the elect,” the relict of a worthy 
Canon. 

Mrs. Brace, smiling, resumed: 

“ I remember the Cathedral ; not so fine as some I’ve 
seen, but picturesque, above the river. It must make 
the houses damp in winter when the floods are out. 
But then, after our life in the Hills, it always seems damp 
in England.” 

Like many Anglo-Indians she had forgotten the dis- 
comforts of the long years of exile from home, and 
sighed now for past glories. She belonged to a type of 
gentlewoman that risks becoming obsolete after a period 
of conscription; a staunch, narrow Army type that has 
helped to build up the Empire. She divided the world 
into two sections ; those whose people were in the Service 
and the remainder — who hardly counted ! 

Isoel was much amused. She divined two factions in 
the house. Which should she side with, given the 
chance? The Army couple appealed to her more inti- 
mately than “ the Close.” Mrs. Percival’s face suggested 
that her satellites would be catechized, and she mis- 
trusted the pair of daughters, the rather striking, sulky 
girl and her mouse-coloured, demure sister. 

Her thoughts here were interrupted by her neigh- 
bour’s request for the salt. 

“ Thenk you.” 

The courtesy was acknowledged grudgingly. “Thus 
far and no further,” said the acid glance accompanying 
it. 

Isoel studied the prim profile for a moment in mock 
despair. 

Human? Yes, in parts, she thought. All the rest 


94 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


vegetable. She glanced at the girl on her left, who was 
eating as if she had never seen food before in her life. 

Purely animal, she decided. 

She cast about for fresh amusement. On the opposite 
side of the table a thin grave man, very shabby, was talk- 
ing in French to his neighbour, a pale heavy individual 
with almond-shaped eyes and moist red lips protruding 
above an inky beard. 

Later on she discovered that these were residents in 
the place, inhabiting two tiny rooms tucked away under 
the roof ; a pasteur of the £glise reformee and a Russian 
baron, who was supposed to be an outlawed anarchist! 
So much for local gossip. As a matter of fact they were 
equally harmless with one serious social offence: a pov- 
erty that nothing could hide. 

Save at meals they never intruded their company on 
the establishment, but occasionally were invited alone to 
the Signora’s little sanctum to “ make music ” and 
drink “ sweet wine,” the pasteur being a pianist of no 
mean calibre, and the Russian possessing a powerful 
voice. 

But Isoel, unaware of their social ostracism, at- 
tracted by her mother tongue, felt drawn to the pair. 
Cheese, nuts and oranges were being handed round to- 
gether and she saw that a basin of sugar stood close to 
the Pasteur's glass. She made a little gesture towards 
it. 

“May I give you the trouble?” she asked in French. 

“ Mille pardons, mademoiselle." Courteously he 
proffered the bowl. His tired face lighted up as she 
went on with a little smile. 

“ But perhaps these oranges are sweet. Are they 
grown in Italy ? ” 

Thus encouraged, the pair were led into a cross-fire 
of remarks. People glanced down the table surprised 
by the rapid flow of French. 

Rosamund Percival nudged her mother. 

“ I thought the Signora said she was English, came 
from London?” Her lip curled. “More like a French 
actress ! ” 

“ Very bad style,” said the Canon’s widow. She rose, 
majestic, from the table. “ Will you excuse us. Signora? 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


95 


We have to make an early start for an expedition this 
afternoon/’ 

There came an answering switch of skirts from the 
window recess. Colonel Brace, taken aback by this sud- 
den move, choked over a piece of walnut, but, gallantly 
supporting his wife, hobbled across towards the door. 
Lame from an old Frontier wound, and suffering from 
rheumatism which had bent his once erect figure, he yet 
preserved his dignity. 

The parties arrived simultaneously at the entrance to 
the drawing-room. 

“Allow me,” said the Colonel. He fumbled clumsily 
with the handle. “ It gets stififer every day.” He 
added jocosely, “ like myself ! ” 

Isoel watched this simple manoeuvre to give his wife 
the time she needed. 

The two ladies glared at each other as the door opened. 

“ After you,” said Mrs. Percival icily. 

“ Since you’re so kind,” said Mrs. Brace and sailed 
through, her head high. One up to the Army! 

It was the signal for a move among the rest of the 
ladies. Those who turned to the salone seemed to have 
caught the infection of Mrs. Percival’s earlier mood. 
Isoel, the last to follow, guessed the reason for their 
haste; one of those little jealousies that spread like a 
fungus in boarding-houses. For the arm-chairs were 
few in number and the elderly ladies vied with each 
other in maintaining their “ right ” to the best seats. 

In a hergere by the window Mrs. Brace was en- 
throned, her knitting spread out on her lap. The 
Colonel sat facing her, buried in the Weekly Times. 

She had a view of the canal, a draught in her neck 
and the subtle joy of seeing the Percival family ousted 
from their favourite corner. 

But the Canon’s relict was not to be slighted. 

“ Well, my dears — ” She turned to her daughters — 
“ we must be off. On a day like this, it’s wrong to 
stay in a stuffy room. Except, of course, for invalids.” 
Cruelly she included the Colonel, in her glance at the 
quiet pair. “ And old people who need their nap.” 
She brushed past Isoel as though she had been a gnat on 
her path. “ I wonder where Mr. Phipps is to-day ? 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


96 

He isn’t often out to lunch. I hope he’ll be back for 
Bridge to-night. It’s so dull here in the evenings ! ” 
Her clear, cold dogmatic voice seemed to roll over other 
chatter, crushing it, like a traction-engine smoothing out 
a pebbly road. 

Isoel had slipped along to a little stool near the win- 
dow and she heard the Colonel breathe to his wife : 

Exit Worcester Sauce.” 

The girl looked up and caught his eye and her lips 
curved with amusement. He gave her an old man’s 
long, slow stare, full of dawning admiration. She felt 
that here was a kindred spirit, indulgent as kindly age is 
to youth. But Mrs. Brace became aware of her husband’s 
attitude. She turned sideways in her chair and gave 
the stranger a shrewd glance. 

Isoel, suddenly shy, coloured almost painfully. Had 
she known it, that swift hot flush was the passport to 
the other’s heart. She drew still further into her cor- 
ner and picked up a magazine. 

“ I’m sure you can’t see there,” said Mrs. Brace 
pleasantly. “If you pulled your chair nearer this way, 
you’d get the light from the window.” 

“ Thanks,” Isoel, smiled back, “ But please don’t 
move. I’m going out. I really don’t want to read, I 
was only looking at the pictures.” 

“ Then I wonder,” said Mrs. Brace briskly, “ if you’d 
just hold this skein of wool while I wind off a fresh 
ball? It tires the Colonel to keep up his hands.” 

“ Of course.” Isoel was delighted. She drew her 
little stool forward. “ Is it war work — your knitting, I 
mean ? ” 

“ Yes, I’m making soldiers’ helmets. Have you 
come straight out from England ? ” 

Isoel nodded. 

“ Last night.” 

“Any fresh news?” asked the Colonel. “I suppose 
you haven’t yesterday’s paper. No — of course not! 
[The day before ? ” 

“Yes. Shall I fetch it? It’s in my room.” She 
saw the eager light in his eyes. 

“ My dear Jim, you can wait a minute. Until I’ve fin- 
ished with this skein.” Mrs. Brace decided the matter 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


97 


by passing it over her victim’s hands. Pretty hands 
with well-shaped nails and carefully tended, her sharp 
eyes noted. “ There ! ” She began to wind the wool 
and having secured her prisoner, started to put her 
through her paces. “ Did you come that long journey 
alone? I suppose you have friends in Venice.” 

“ No.” Isoel looked wistful. She saw the lady 
stiffen slightly and fell back on invention. “ I’m quite 
by myself — so unfortunate ! An old friend was com- 
ing with me but was taken ill, with influenza. It spoilt 
our plans and as every one’s so busy now I couldn’t 
get any one in her place. It seemed such a shame to 
waste the tickets and I’ve always longed to see Venice 
so I took my courage in both hands, hoping she would 
join me later.” 

She excused this quite unfounded story by a mem- 
ory of Patty’s cold! And certainly Patty couldn’t have 
come. And wasn’t she an old friend ” ? 

“ I see.” Mrs. Brace relaxed. She applied her un- 
failing test. ‘‘ I suppose you’re upset, like most of us 
at present by this dreadful war? With relations fight- 
ing at the Front?” 

Here was a facer. Isoel trembled. 

“ No. Only friends so far. I’ve hardly a relative left ; 
no brothers and no cousins ! But of course if my father 
were still alive I should have been terribly anxious.” 
She let the inference soak in and went on with a smile, 
“ One minute I There’s a knot.” 

Mrs. Brace wrestled with it and disentangled the erring 
wool. Their eyes met triumphantly. 

Why, the girl was a beauty 1 With her lips parted 
in a smile and the glowing depths of her long-shaped 
eyes. She had no business to be alone and the older 
woman felt doubtful. She held strict notions on be- 
haviour that dated from the Victorian era. Then she 
recalled that “terribly anxious.” 

“Your father was in the Army then?” 

“ No, the Navy.” Isoel watched her. 

Mrs. Brace’s manner changed, no longer patronizing. 
Here was a new and pretty ally in her battle with the 
iPercival faction. 

She nodded her head vigorously. 


98 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


“ I understand. It’s a bad time for the women at 
home. And for the men past active service too,” she 
lowered her voice, very friendly. “ That’s why I got 
the Colonel away. He was eating his heart out in 
town. He’d tried in vain to get something to do. Of 
course in India it would have been easy. But one drops 
out of things at home after an absence of thirty years 
and his rheumatism is against him. Though they might 
have used his experience/' 

She shared in this steady ; grievance of his. 

The Colonel had caught the last words. 

‘‘ Experience ? They don’t want it. Any Jack in of- 
fice will do. Look at that fellow Churchill now? A 
mere boy, directing the Navy! With Fisher placed 
upon the shelf ! Upon my soul, they’ll be saying next 
that Kitchener is past his work ! ” He was working him- 
self into a fever. “Abominable! This Government is 
doing its best to lose the war. I believe they’re half 
of them pro-Germans ! ” 

He glared at his wife, his lips twitching. 

“ I shouldn’t wonder.” She humoured him. “ But 
the country won’t ‘wait and see’ for ever; and there’s 
some of the old Anny left.” 

By this odd form of consolation, she revealed the 
deep wound in her heart. For she knew that the old 
order had passed; life would never be the same. 

This gallant new Army growing up, democratic to 
the core, spelt the death of the old regime, caste and 
tradition sorely threatened. 

She had never recovered from the shock when her 
grocer’s son had got his commission; a youth who had 
served her with rice and sugar and had been on her list 
of Christmas boxes. She belonged to the England of 
the past. She could not see that this era of change was 
to be the salvation of the nation, sweeping away the 
paralysis induced by the long years of peace. 

Yet so mixed was her frame of mind that she gloried 
in the fine response of men in every station of life to 
the first breathless call to arms. Only, they should 
have been “ sorted out,” according to rank and not to 
merit, and the pressing needs of the hour. It wasn’t 
fair on “ Army women ! ” 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


99 

She laid the finished ball of wool on her lap with a 
heavy sigh. 

“ Thank you, my dear.’’ Absently she drove the long 
knitting needle into the fuzzy mat that lay in a point be- 
tween her grey eyebrows and loosened the tight fringe 
net. 

Isoel rose to her feet. 

“I’ll fetch that paper for — ” She paused. 

The elderly lady recovered herself. 

“ Colonel Brace.” She filled the gap. “ And what 
is your name? You haven’t told me.” 

“ Isoel Dark.” 

The Colonel, drowsy after his brief attack of spleen, 
indulged in a mild joke. 

“ It should be Fair, to my mind ! ” His eyes lingered 
on her hair. 

“ An instance of feminine perversity ? ” She gave him 
a sunny smile as she slipped away on her errand. 

“ A pretty girl,” said the old man. 

“ Yes. I like her,” said Mrs. Brace. “ Though what 
her people are about letting her wander abroad like this 
with no one to look after her, I can’t think. Perhaps it’s 
modern ! ” 

“ But Maud travels by herself.” He referred to an 
elderly niece of his. 

“ Maud ! ” she scoffed. “ Now do you believe that 
Maud runs any danger?” She bent her head nearer 
his. “ I’m only hoping ” — her eyes twinkled — “ that 
Phipps will take a fancy to her. It would serve Mrs. 
Percival right. She monopolizes that young man.” 

“Perhaps she intends him for Rosamund?” 

“ Not she ! She likes to have some one always in at- 
tendance. That’s why the girls look so sulky. Their 
mother never gives them a chance! Mrs. Fortescue, 
who met them last Winter, staying in Florence, told me 
it was just the same there with a Mr. Wyatt. There 
was a regular scene one night and the younger girl went 
into hysterics ! ” 

“ Oh, you gossips ! ” The Colonel laughed. “ That’s 
the worst of pensions. You get a pack of women to- 
gether with a helpless minority of men and then there’s 
the devil to pay! I should think that Miss Rosamund 


100 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


could manage her own affairs. She’s not really afraid 
of her mother. And after all — ” he chuckled softly — 
“ I remember that you were not averse to cavaliers in the 
old days. Half my boys were running errands or crowd- 
ing in to tiffin with you — ” 

She interrupted, with sparkling eyes. 

But Minnie was first when she came out. I never 
stood in the child’s light. I’d had my own happy girl- 
hood and I meant that she should enjoy hers.” Her face 
saddened suddenly. “ She might have married half the 
station and then she chose poor Leslie! And we none 
of us guessed — ” 

The Colonel nodded. 

She says she’s happy. Even now ! ” 

A short silence fell between them. For their love had 
been closer knit by a grief shared but rarely alluded to, the 
sacrifice of a woman’s youth. 

Isoel recrossed the room, threading her way through 
the groups of chairs. The owners stared at her as she 
passed with curious looks, mostly hostile. 

The old soldier noticed this. Stiffly he rose from his 
seat to take the paper she offered him. 

Thank you so much. Won’t you take my place?” 
She refused the attention prettily, adding: 

“ I’m going out to explore. You can’t think how ex- 
citing it is. I’ve already been lost once to-day ! ” 

Take care then where you get to. Don’t go wan- 
dering far on foot; you’re safer in a gondola and you’ll 
find the steam-boats very useful. If I were younger 
I’d come with you.” 

''Do!” She smiled across at his wife. “ Would you 
trust him to my tender care ? ” 

“No, I wouldn’t!” Mrs. Brace rose to the joke. 
“ Now, off you go ! It gets chilly, later on. Oh, by the 
way, a word in your ear.” The girl, obedient, bent 
over her chair. “ If you would take a hint from me — 
as an older woman, since you’re alone — I wouldn’t get 
too friendly with your opposite neighbours at table. Of 
course you’re young and you don’t think. But those 
men are not desirable. One of them is an anarchist.” 
She believed firmly in the report. “ Of course the Rus- 
sians are our allies — ” Odd how the war had altered 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


lOIi 


things ! Her thoughts flashed back to the Crimea. 
“ But this Baron, as he calls himself, is a somewhat 
mysterious individual. The other man’s a French 
pasteur, harmless but hardly a gentleman.” She saw 
a question in Isoel’s eyes. “ Well? ” 

“ A pasteur, not a priest ? ” 

*‘No. Why?” 

Isoel smiled. 

“ It sounded odd. I’m partly French and a Catho- 
lic like my mother was.” She hesitated, rather shy and 
uncertain of her ground. 

Mrs. Brace looked surprised. A rigid Protestant her- 
self, she was yet beset by a mischievous pleasure. This 
girl might prove a severe thorn in the flesh to the 
Canon’s widow ! 

“Well, I hope you don’t mind my warning you?” 

Au contraire! I think you’re most kind.” Isoel 
spoke gratefully. “ I’ve never been to a pension before 
and I must own ” — she was laughing now — “ that I 
found lunch rather a trial with deaf-mutes on either 
side! Still I studied a Mrs. Percivaf,” — this was a 
clever stroke ! — “ the lady with a granite crown slightly 
impaired by wind and weather ! And I found her quite 
absorbing.” 

They laughed simultaneously. 

“ I’m afraid you’re a quiz,” said Mrs. Brace. 

The girl made off, well pleased with herself. 

“ It’s quite easy,” she decided. “ You’ve only to find 
a mutual hobby, or better still, a strong dislike and play 
upon it carefully. All the same they’re a dear old 
pair. And what a lovely day it’s been! Adventures at 
every turn. I wonder how Master Doran’s feeling?” 

As she danced out, still laughing, into the street now 
filled with shadows she met a man coming in, who stood 
aside for her to pass. 

He stared at her eagerly and she carried away an 
impression of a cherubic clean-shaven face, and a chin 
with a deep cleft in it, a pair of mischievous blue eyes 
and a cigarette swiftly removed from a mouth shaped 
like a Cupid’s bow. 

Did he — could he belong to the pension? Here was 
material to her fancy. 


CHAPTER X 


T WO days passed swiftly, days of sunshine and 
fresh delig-ht. Isoel seized the first chance of 
making friends with the “ Signora,” a wise move 
which resulted in a change of seats at the dinner table. 

Now she was nearer to her hostess, with a Mrs. 
Fortescue on her right, a rather lymphatic but kindly 
lady who had known the Braces in India. 

From here she could catch the merry glance of the 
blond young man from time to time. She learnt that 
his name was Stacy Phipps and that he hailed from 
London too. He belonged to a firm of solicitors well- 
known in Lincoln’s Inn. He adhered to the Percival 
faction, hovered around the sleek matron and flirted 
behind that lady’s back with Rosamund, the elder 
daughter. 

They seemed to understand each other and to have a 
sort of secret code. But the girl chafed against the 
need of his public attentions to her mother. Isoel 
fancied that young Phipps took a mischievious pleasure 
in the fact, noting Rosamund’s jealousy, and turning it 
to his own account. For the girl fluctuated between 
bold advances and sullen temper, and the sly mouse- 
coloured sister looked on, with a slightly aloof air of 
virtue. 

It was a pretty comedy and nothing escaped Isoel’s 
eyes. Beneath her half lowered lids she saw more than 
most people. Saw, too, that Stacy Phipps was search- 
ing cautiously for an excuse to make advances to her- 
self without offending the Percivals. 

Mrs. Brace gave him his chance. The opposite fac- 
tion had sallied forth that evening in a gondola, taking 
advantage of the first warm night under the full moon. 
The satellite had politely declined their invitation on the 
pretext of letters to write; but, shortly after their de- 
parture, he sauntered into the drawing-room with a 
paper fresh from its postal wrapper which he offered to 
the Colonel. 


102 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


103 


“ Do you care to read it ? I hear there’s been an- 
other big Zeppelin raid.” For he knew the old man’s 
pet weakness, an exile’s hunger for home news. 

“ Thanks, I should.” The Colonel rose from his 
place between Isoel and his wife. I see there’s a chair 
under the light.” He hobbled oif in that direction. 

Phipps stood there, hesitating. Mrs. Brace smiled at 
him. 

‘‘ You’d better take this one, while you can.” She 
patted the vacant bergere. “ It won’t go begging very 
long.” 

Delighted, he sat down, with a sidelong glance at 
Isoel. She was bending over her needlework, a strip of 
lace just begun, joining the braids by a network of 
threads, her eyes lowered, the dark lashes sweeping the 
curves of her smooth young cheek. 

“You’re not having your Bridge to-night?” Mrs. 
Brace looked mischievous. “ I quite miss the excite- 
ment of those post mortem arguments.” 

“ I don’t ! ” Phipps laughed. “ That’s the worst of 
a family party. Relationship encourages candour at 
games to an alarming extent. But one must do some- 
thing to pass the time — and I’m not clever at my 
needle ! ” This was directed at IsoH. 

She glanced up at the broad hint and Mrs. Brace in- 
troduced them. 

“You don’t know Miss Dark?” 

“ No.” His glance spoke volumes. 

Isoel, in a dainty blouse copied from one of Clotilde’s 
models and cut sedately high at the throat, looked the 
picture of simple girlhood. 

Mrs. Brace completed the formula briskly and rose 
to her feet. 

“ If you’ll keep this chair for me, my dear, I just 
want to ask the Colonel — ” Without finishing her 
speech she rustled away with the firm step of a woman 
sure of her position and indiiferent to criticism. 

A little silence fell upon the young couple left to- 
gether. 

Isoel, demure, stitched on, but a dimple in her cheek 
betrayed her. 

“ Doesn’t that fine work try your eyes ? ” Phipps sug- 


104 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


gested. As she denied it he added admiringly, “ May l' 
see it ? ’’ and held out his hand. 

“ Certainly. She ran the needle through the stiffen- 
ing, point downwards, and gave it up into his care. 

“You’re interested in needlework?” she asked 
sweetly. 

“ Not in the least. But I think you’ve done enough 
for to-night. It would be kinder to talk to me.” 

Her eyes danced as she saw him fold it with gin- 
gerly care avoiding the sharp point. 

“ How tidy you are ! And how careful ! You don’t 
mean to prick your fingers.” 

“No good rushing into danger. Unless it’s worth 
it,” he added, smiling. 

She met him at his own game. 

“ It so rarely is. Life’s too short.” 

“ But I’d rather have it short and sweet. Wouldn’t 
you ? ” It was a challenge. 

For these two had much in common and knew it in- 
stinctively. She parried the thrust: 

“ I’m not sure. Here in Venice one wants to live for- 
ever. At least, I do.” 

“ Live, yes ; but not exist ! I can’t picture you for 
instance like that valetudinarian there.” He made a 
slight inclination towards her old table neighbour, erect 
in a stiff-backed chair, a shawl drawn round her bony 
shoulders. 

Isoel followed his glance. 

“ But she’s not alive,” she whispered gaily. For she 
could not resist the silent call of youth to youth, con- 
demning age. “And the worst of it is she’s a can- 
nibal — feeds upon her own species.” 

“ How ? ” He drew his chair closer. A faint per- 
fume from her hair as she moved her head was wafted 
across him. He drank it in eagerly. 

“ She’s a fervid vegetarian.” 

He laughed, with a ring of excitement that the joke 
hardly justified, delighted to find that this pretty girl 
had a sense of humour and did not belong to the “ doll 
tribe” who consider good looks are all that a man re- 
quires. 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 105 

“ Capital ! Feeds on nuts. I thought you meant she 
was a vampire.’’ 

“No — just an Artichoke!” She still spoke under 
her breath, aware that the lady in question was only a 
few feet away. “ At least that’s my name for her. 
Those green ones you know, with spiky leaves. If she 
has a heart, which I very much doubt, it’s guarded by 
tight rows of prickles. Her little fat friend is the 
‘ Brussel’s Sprout,’ and the girl with the pigtail I call the 
‘ Carrot.’ ” 

“ I wonder what you’ve christened me?” 

She glanced at him and hesitated. 

“ I hope I’m not in the green food line? ” 

“ No. But I’m not going to tell you.” 

Do. I promise I’ll forgive you. Besides I’m hop- 
ing it’s something nice.” 

She shook her head provokingly. 

“ I don’t know you well enough.” 

“Heavens! If that’s all that matters, we’ll soon — ” 

But she checked him, drawing back. 

“ It’s quite useless, Mr. Phipps. I’ve told you enough 
secrets already ! Will you please return my property ? ” 

“ Never ! I’ll keep it as a ransom. And I hate to see 
people energetic — even when they’ve pretty hands. 
What do you call Mrs. Percival?” 

But she disapproved of this treachery. 

“ I thought she was a friend of yours.” Her words 
were delicately edged. 

“ How severe ! ” He gave a chuckle. “ So she is — 
in a sort of way. A kind creature. All the same — ” he 
shrugged his shoulders — “ It’s only a game. I should 
like to hear your summing-up.” 

Before she could answer, the door opened and the 
hall-porter crossed to their side, a visiting card out- 
stretched between a grimy finger and thumb. 

“ One asks for you, Signore,” he said. 

Phipps scowled. 

“ Where is he ? ” 

“Downstairs. I go, fetch?” He glanced sideways 
at Isoel with an Italian’s love of beauty. His eyes wan- 
dered down to her feet. He wondered if the Signorina 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


iio6 

had noticed how well her shoes were polished? He 
lingered daily over this pleasant task to the neglect of 
the solid footwear of most of the other visitors — out 
of all proportion to the sizes! 

Phipps’s face revealed plainly that he resented the in- 
terruption. 

“ Yes. Show him in.” He turned to the girl as the 
porter retreated. “What a bother! You must^ tell me 
that nickname now or I shall stay awake all night.” 

“ But you mightn’t sleep if you heard it.” She 
warned him with a mischievous smile. 

“ I’ll risk that ! Do tell me? ” 

She lowered her voice mysteriously. 

“ I call her ‘ The Impregnable City.’ ” 

“ Ha, ha ! ” His laugh rang out. “ And you thought 
that would drive me to despair? Whatever made you 
choose such a title ? ” 

“ Her granite battlements,” she explained. “ But per- 
haps you haven’t noticed her hair? It’s piled in little 
red-grey plaits like a firmly built castle wall. Be- 
sides — ” She stopped, catching her breath and stared 
over Phipps’s shoulder. 

A tall man was coming towards them, broad-chested 
and black-haired, his grey eyes scanning the pair under 
the ridge of his dark brows. 

“ PIullo, Doran ! ” Phipps sprang up. “ Excuse me, 
Miss Dark.” He moved forward to check his friend’s 
nearer approach. He did not intend to introduce him 
to this fascinating new acquaintance and to see her 
quickly monopolized — as she certainly would be! — by 
the soldier. 

But Doran, true to his creed of life, recognized no 
obstacles. He nodded cheerily in response. 

“ How’re you ? Why, there’s Miss Dark ! Luck, 
finding you both together.” And bore on steadily until 
he reached Isoel’s side. 

“You’ve not forgotten me, I hope?” 

She gave him a cool little nod. 

“ No. I remember you quite well — now.” The 
pause was intentional. For she had herself in hand 
again after the first swift surprise. 

“Am I stealing your chair, Stacy?” he asked, laying 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


107 


a hand on the back of it with a proprietary gesture. 

“Yes, you are! But I’ll forgive you.” Phipps drew 
up a rickety stool and sat there like a small boy doing 
unwilling prance. “Nice of you to look me up. 
You’re looking uncommonly fit, I think.” 

“ I’m cured.” Doran smiled slowly. “ By a miracle. 
They happen in Venice. It’s a wonderful place for ad- 
ventures. Haven’t you found it so. Miss Dark?” 

Phipps gazed from one to the other. He was sur- 
prised at their acquaintance. Old Doran was deuced 
deep I He’d never so much as mentioned the girl. He 
listened to Isoel’s reply. 

“ Yes. A pension in itself is a sort of adventure, isn’t 
it? Rather like a bran-pie. You never know what you 
may find,” she added with a faint scorn, “ hidden away 
in the saw-dust.” 

“ Nice for me,” said Phipps, laughing. 

“ Oh, there’s always a plum,” Doran consoled him. 

“ And a pie-crust,” suggested Phipps to Isoel. “ Bat- 
tlemented I ” 

They both of them were amused at this reminder of 
earlier chaff. Doran watched them, interested. Trust 
old Stacy to lose no chance! 

As the talk threatened to leave him out, he protested: 

“ D’you call this fair on me? These hidden jests. 
And you haven’t shown much interest in my miracle.”^ 

He looked at Isoel wickedly. She guessed his game. 
He was going to relate in veiled language how he had 
met a ministering angel! 

Rapidly she began to talk. 

“ That reminds me ! I had a letter this morning from 
an old friend whose hobby is Italian art and he asked 
if I had seen some frescoes by Carpaccio of St. George 
and the Dragon. You’re an authority on Venice, aren’t 
you, Mr. Doran ? ” Her face was almost too innocent. 
“ Can you tell me where they are ? ” 

“ I can. San Giorgio degli Schiavoni. It’s a guild 
chapel hidden away behind the riva of that name. It’s 
rather difficult to find. You’d better take a gondola. 
It wouldn’t do for you to get lost.” He underlined the 
last phrase. 

“ Come with me,” said Phipps quickly. 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


io8 

She was relieved at this juncture to see Mrs. Brace 
leave the Colonel and rustle back across the room. In 
her black dress, trimmed with jet, with the little window 
under her chin showing the folds of her plump neck and 
a large pendant in blue enamel set round with tiny bril- 
liants, she looked a bulwark of defiance, motherly yet 
imposing. 

“ We’ve kept your chair.” 

Isoel rose, her action followed by the others. Mrs. 
Brace glanced at the stranger. 

‘‘ These young men,” she said to herself, “ moths 
round my pretty candle.” 

Phipps introduced Doran, and the Colonel, attracted, 
joined the gtoup, widening the little circle. He was 
always relieved to see other men in the feminine at- 
mosphere of the place. 

He began to discuss the war news with his fellow- 
soldier, whilst Mrs. Brace listened complacently, and 
Phipps flirted with Isoel. 

Every now and then she caught Doran’s grey eyes 
upon her. He was wondering if this elderly pair were 
chaperoning the girl he admired. He laid himself out 
to be attentive. 

‘‘You don’t know my hotel?” The talk had drifted 
back to Venice. “ It’s about the oldest, I suppose. I’ve 
stayed there before so it feels homey and you get the 
air straight off the sea, which suits me just now.” 

Mrs. Brace chimed in. 

“You must have a lovely view?” 

“Yes. I was fortunate in securing a sitting-room in 
the front. The sunsets are very fine.” He hesitated, 
then went on. “If ever you’re passing that way at 
tea-time, you and Miss Dark, would you care to come 
ih? I should feel so flattered.” He smiled at her, 
strong white teeth visible, his dark, rather lean, face 
transformed by a hint of boyishness. 

Mrs. Brace nodded back with the air of a conspirator. 
She knew exactly why she was asked and enjoyed the 
position thoroughly. 

“ It’s very kind of you, Mr. Doran.” Her voice was 
formal, her eyes twinkled. “We certainly will, one 
fine day, when we are in your direction.” 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


109 


She did not refer the invitation to the girl herself 
and Doran thought that this proved his surmise. He 
felt all the more puzzled. If she were travelling with 
the Braces, so eminently presentable, why had she made 
such a mystery of her address at their first meet- 
ing? And how did a mannequin from Clotilde’s find 
herself dans cette galore f Some instinct had warned 
him that Isoel was not of his own class. He glanced 
at her. She was chafiing Phipps, who was quite con- 
tented to leave his guest to the tender mercy of the 
Braces. 

The door of the room opened softly. Rosamund 
Percival peeped through with a smiling face which 
changed swiftly. She gave the group an angry stare; 
then, imperiously, beckoned to Phipps. 

“ I think you’re wanted,” said Isoel sweetly. 

Phipps frowned but got up. 

“ I’m coming back.” He nodded to Doran, avoiding 
the mischief in Isoel’s eyes. 

As he reached the intruder she said clearly: 

“ I have a message for you from Mother,” and drew 
back into the passage. Phipps closed the door behind 
him but not before the first words of the irate Miss 
Percival drifted across to the others : “ What on earth 

are you — ” 

Isoel smiled, with intention, at Mrs. Brace. 

“ Poor Mr. Phipps,” said the latter suavely. He’s 
always so much in request.” 

Doran, amused by the incident, began to talk about 
his friend. 

‘‘ I’ve known Stacy since my school-days — the 
* Cherub,’ as we used to call him! But the fellows soon 
left him alone. He was so good-natured, every one 
liked him. I should imagine him to be a godsend in a 
pension'* A slight dryness was in his voice and the 
Colonel chuckled, understanding. Doran turned to 
Isoel. 

‘‘About San Giorgio,” he said lightly. “You ought 
to go there in the morning. Eleven o’clock’s the best 
light. It’s a dark little place and it’s difficult to make 
out the pictures later on. That’s one of the drawbacks 
to Venice, the perverse way in which they hide their 


no 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


best works in the gloomiest corners. Have you been 
to the Doge’s palace yet ? ” 

“ No. I like to keep out in the sunshine. It’s so 
delicious after town.” She had retrieved her strip of 
lace and was busy, making minute stitches. 

“AndMurano?” 

He had his reward. A faint colour warmed her 
cheek. 

“ Not yet.” 

Doran smiled. 

‘‘But you’re still, I hope, in love with Venice?” He 
did not wait for her reply but continued, looking at 
Mrs. Brace, “ I was born here, so I’m prejudiced. 
Every one must love the place ! ” 

“Really? But you’re English, of course. Your 
name is quite familiar to me. I wonder by chance if 
you’re any relation to a friend of my sister’s I used 
to meet years ago at their place in Scotland. She was 
a Lady Caroline Doran, a daughter, I think, of Lord 
Garth.” 

“ Yes, my mother.” His voice was grave. 

“ She was very lovely,” said Mrs. Brace. 

Isoel, bending over her task felt a thrill of silent 
^ wonder, followed by a touch of triumph. This was 
the man whom she had snubbed! 

Well — and hadn’t it succeeded? 

Here he was, seeking her out. She had guessed that 
this unexpected call on Phipps was partly due to her 
presence. 

She felt his eyes return to her and linger curiously 
for a space, and she gloried in her sense of power with 
that spice of cruelty which seems to be part of the ar- 
mour of a maiden before the insidious approach of 
passion. 

Men, she thought, were all the same ; even to that old 
wretch, “Monsieur!” Evade them and they pursued. 
It stung her anew to rebellion. 

She folded her work neatly together and stood up as 
Phipps^ returned, a trifle heated from his lecture and 
determined to show how little he cared. 

“ Good night, Mrs. Brace.” She held out her hand 
to the chaperon. 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


III 


‘‘You off, my dear?” said that motherly soul. “Are 
you feeling tired ? ” 

“ Only sleepy,” she explained. “ From the fresh ain 
IVe been out all day.” 

Doran stood up. 

“Good night. Miss Dark. Don’t forget about the 
pictures. I think you’ll like those fairy stories if you 
catch them in a good light.” 

“ I shall go there to-morrow morning.” She smiled. 
“ Thank you for all your instructions.” 

She felt his hand tighten on hers. It was an assigna- 
tion then ! She met his keen grey eyes demurely and 
turned for a laughing nod to Phipps. 

But once safely outside the door she gave a little skip 
of joy. 

“ And you can look for me, mon cher, and wait the 
live-long day, if you choose! Did you think you had 
only to lift a finger to find me flying after you?” 

She reached her room and lit the candles. Placing 
one on either hand she stood before the unstable mirror 
studying her excited face. 

Was she fascinating? Yes. It was hardly vanity 
that moved her, but a curious sense of indebtedness to 
the fair image confronting her. Together they would 
conquer fate! 

She loosened the hair round! her temples with her 
slim fine fingers and laughed again. Then, with a 
childish impulse, stooped and kissed the cold lips in 
the glass. 


CHAPTER XI 


HE sacristan of that tiny chapel built in the six- 



teenth century on the site of an ancient meeting- 


house for Slavonian sailors trading with Venice, 


wondered why a tall young man, who spoke to him in 
fluent Italian, but was obviously a forestiere, haunted San 
Giorgio. 

An artist? Hardly. He had not the stamp of the 
fraternity in Venice; and although he examined the fa- 
mous pictures he lacked the absorption of the expert. 

Old Pietro, inquisitive, would pocket his tip after due 
parley and stroll out with a worn broom to sweep the 
immaculate church steps; an excuse to get into conver- 
sation with the gondolier lounging there. 

It was a private gondola hired by Doran from week to 
week, and the man was dressed more soberly than his 
picturesque associates. 

He learnt from this expansive worthy that : “ Here 

.was a great English Signore/' Rich? 

^^Ma. . . , f" 

The long slow shrug of the Italian, lazier far than the 
nervous gesture that hails from France, hinted at wealth 
beyond expression. W,ith a suite of rooms at Danieli’s, 
where the manager showed him every attention. 

He had come there ill, with a wound, from the war. 
Here the two heads drew nearer, and the voices sank. 

Si, la guerra! " 

The boatman^s clenched fist shot up and threatened 
the far-off range of hills beyond which lay Austria, with 
a centuries-old undying hatred. 

Che sard sard!" He himself prayed each night that 
a day might dawn for Italy. The Day — that word 
which never again will lose its bloody significance. 

They talked politics awhile, then old Pietro craftily in- 
sinuated that the Signore was of a religious cast of mind. 

“He? Giammai! " The gondolier spat into the 
shining water. Anti-clerical to the core he resented this 
slight on his new master. 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


113 

Ehbene, ebhene.” The old man soothed him. “ It is 
the pictures that brings him them ? For, look you, this is 
the third day he visits San Giorgio.” 

The boatman sought for an excuse and fell back on the 
usual one. 

“ He comes, without doubt, to meet a lady.” 

Churches all over Italy are favourite haunts as rendez- 
vous illegal and authorized. For here the youth singled 
out for betrothal lingers on the steps for the first glance 
at his intended, supported by his chosen friends, who dis- 
cuss her charms and possibilities with a frankness un- 
known in northern lands. 

Pietro accepted this explanation with eagerness and 
pressed for details, glancing back over his shoulder. 

The doorway showed no signs of life. Doran had 
settled down on a chair in a spot where a pale ray of 
sunshine pierced the gloomy little room. His face was 
grim, his mouth set. His obstinacy was of the kind that 
hardens when luck is out. He vowed he would come 
there every day until he forced a meeting upon the girl 
who evaded him, haunt the rio where she lived and, fail- 
ing all other manoeuvres, remove bodily to the pension. 

This last horrific expedient made him smile against his 
will. 

“The little jade!” 

Upon the thought she came, smiling, into the church. 

Behind her, officious, broom in hand, Pietro followed, 
his wrinkled face, like an ancient terrapin’s, thrust out 
between his hunched shoulders. 

Doran heard the light step and the rustle of her pet- 
ticoat. But he did not turn. He still leaned forward 
gazing at the tiny altar. 

Isoel, aware of his presence, paused before the left 
wall. Here was St. George, attacking the dragon with a 
spear a third the length of the picture; the maiden, 
prayerful, looking on and, grotesque beneath the hoofs of 
his charger, the legs and arms of earlier victims — 
“ crumbs from the rich man’s table ” 1 In the background 
a faery city, with minarets and balconies alive with inter- 
ested spectators, towered up to the radiant sky. The ex- 
quisite fantasy held her absorbed, though half of her 
senses were centred round the man on the chair beyond. 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


114 

Slowly she moved to the next scenes ; the dragon van- 
quished by St. George and his baptism of the King and 
his daughter. 

An odd feeling of annoyance tempered her enthusiasm. 
Had it not been for that silent presence, she felt that Car- 
paccio’s playful genius would have roused in her deep 
delight. The two sides of her character, that vivid im- 
agination which sought ever for beauty and romance, 
and the shrewd material call of ambition, warred with 
each other provokingly. 

Her nerves were tense with the conflict. When she 
heard Doran’s chair pushed back with a grating noise she 
felt a sudden impulse to fly. Why had she come there 
and risked the meeting? Had she lowered her flag of 
pride ? The colours danced before her vision, the wooden 
ceiling pressed down on her. She bit her lip, her eyes 
fixed upon a dog — that hall-mark of the artist which 
creeps into his various paintings like a child’s grimace at 
religion — with a sudden nervous dread of faintness. 

Doran now was standing behind her. Instinctively she 
put up her hand to the back of her head and smoothed 
her hair. 

“ It’s quite tidy.” His voice was grave ; not so his face 
when she turned. 

“ Oh — Mr. Doran ! ” She tried in vain to meet the 
laughter in his eyes, the little flicker of triumph in them. 

What a habit you have of springing up in the most un- 
likely places ! ” 

** Unlikely ? ” He smiled back. “ I come here every 
morning. It’s a rule of mine; didn’t you know? It’s 
part of my duties as a guide. One must learn Carpac- 
cio by heart.” 

Her fair skin had betrayed her as she listened to this 
mischievous speech. He saw that slow enveloping blush, 
and he felt suddenly sorry for her. Here was a new 
Isoel who appealed to him in her moment of weakness. 
He looked aside with a generous instinct. 

‘‘ Come and see the Basilisk — if you think it’s safe. 
I suppose you know that a glance from his eyes is gen- 
erally fatal? But San Trifonio may protect us.” He 
led the way, talking lightly, his voice lowered to suit the 
environment. 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


115 


I’m awfully glad to have the chance of showing it 
you. I am, really.” 

She began to feel more at home. A long strand of 
greenish tulle that she had wound round her neck, to 
relieve the sombre serge of her dress, caught on a chair- 
back as she passed. 

Doran came to her assistance. 

That’s his evil influence ! He can’t slay you with a 
look, like the heroine does in a popular novel, so he falls 
back on Absalom’s game. I can sympathize. Half an 
hour ago I was feeling suicidal myself.” 

She frowned at his quick relapse from his more re- 
spectful manner. 

Watching her face, on which the moods were so 
clearly reflected, Doran smiled. 

"‘All right. Let’s cry pax!” 

‘‘Why? I don’t understand.” She looked at him 
haughtily. 

“ Don’t you?” He still held the disentangled end of 
her scarf. “ Then I’ll explain — as well as I can. I’ll 
forgive you for leading me such a dance, if you’ll be 
nice to me now you’re here. That’s putting the case 
boldly. Unless, of course, you really dislike me? ” His 
voice changed on the last word with an accent of 
sincerity and chagrin that pierced her guard. 

“ Oh, no 1 ” Impulsively, her foreign accent very ap- 
parent, she ran on : “ It’s not that. But I hardly know 
you and I feel ” — she threw out her hands with a help- 
less gesture — “ you’re always making fun of me.” 

It was not at all what she had planned but Nature had 
tripped her up. Doran answered with equal candour. 

“ Heaven forbid ! I don’t mean to. It’s a bad habit 
of mine, to tease. Besides, you hold the master cards. 
I’m simply longing to be friends, as the children say, 
but you won’t agree.” 

A party of strangers entered the Chapel, forbidding 
further conversation of a private nature. Pietro, an 
Italian, had not counted, but these people spoke Eng- 
lish. Doran gave her a searching look, then led the 
way to the famous picture. 

“ What do you think of it? ” he asked. 

She lifted her sombre eyes. 


ii6 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Again across her perturbed mood came that sense of 
peace which beauty brings. 

For a moment she did not answer him, drinking in the 
quaint conception. 

Save for the halo round the head of the Child-saint 
with his rapt expression, the painting held no note of 
religion but suggested to her an illustration of a story by 
Hans Andersen. 

The amazing animal that faced little San Trifonio 
brought a smile to her serious lips. 

“ But what is it ? ” 

“ A Basilisk. On the very best authority. Would you 
like to have one for a pet ? ” 

‘‘ Immensely! Isn’t it chic? ” 

“ A nice thing to tuck into your muff when you start 
out for a morning’s shopping.” 

Isoel laughed fcneath her breath. The reaction had 
• set in with the sense of safety assured by the presence of 
other people. 

“ Could I keep it at the pension? ” 

“ It might make you unpopular.” 

“ Oh, I’m that now,” she confessed gaily. 

For, ever since the fatal evening when Rosamund had 
discovered Phipps siding with the enemy, she had missed 
no single opportunity of making trouble for Isoel. 

Phipps had not helped matters. He had thrown off his 
allegiance, annoyed by Rosamund’s tirade wdiich had 
opened his eyes to the danger of a too desperate flirta- 
tion. Pie still hovered about the parent but was less as- 
siduous than before, making the casual excuses of youth 
that finds better sport elsewhere. He had offered to 
teach Isoel chess, slyly encouraged by Mrs. Brace, and 
the first lesson overnight had broken the long sequence of 
Bridge. 

But the pupil had felt a passing doubt as to the wis- 
dom of the move. Could she afford enemies? She had 
learnt, too, that Phipps was poor. 

Nothing to be gained there save the fun of a flirtation. 
And Doran? An enigma. Well-connected — this she 
knew — and staying at a good hotel. But men home on 
sick leave generally spent recklessly. She wasn’t sure 
that she liked him. His manner irritated her. She had 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS ii;^^ 

never met a man before who refused to be snubbed with 
such mischievous skill., 

“ Perhaps Mrs. Brace is too severe ? ” He referred 
to her last remark. “ I didn’t gather. Is she your 
aunt? ” 

“ My aunt ? ” Isoel stared at him. “ Why, I only met 
her at the pension” 

“ Oh ! ’’ He was feeling his way. “ I thought perhaps 
you were travelling with her.” 

“ No. I’m there quite alone.” She went on, rather 
hurriedly, “ the friend who was coming out with me was 
taken ill. Such a pity.” 

“ I see.” He tried a fresh tack. So you’re having a 
holiday on your own, glad to get out of the London 
fogs.” 

“ Yes.” It did not occur to her that she had not told 
him where she lived. ‘‘ I shall carry back a store of sun- 
shine to help me through my munition work.” 

“ Bravo ! Are you taking that up ? ” He looked at 
her with fresh interest. “ I expect you’ll like it better 
than — ” He pulled himself up just in time and substi- 
tuted hastily, “ playing the usual social round.” 

His face was grave. She did not guess he was chok- 
ing down an impulse of laughter. 

‘‘ Yes, one does tire of it,” she admitted airily. 

Doran gave an odd little cough, the result of his in- 
ward struggle. 

She looked up anxiously, remembering that ominous 
sound. 

‘Msn’t it rather chilly here? You oughtn’t to stay in 
this cold place.” 

“ Oh, I’m all right.” He felt ashamed. “ Still it’s 
nicer outside this weather. But have you seen all you 
came for ? ” 

He had meant it quite innocently, but a hidden mean- 
ing struck them both, at the same moment. Their eyes 
met and Doran accepting the situation added with a 
mischevious smile: 

"/’ve seen the prettiest picture in Venice! And 
you ? ” 

The Basilisk,” she laughed. “ And I’m still alive I ” 

“ Then let’s go out into the sun and thank the saints.” 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Ii8 

They moved together to the door before the chatter- 
ing group of tourists, the sacristan in their wake. 

“This is better, isn’t it?” He paused, dazzled by the 
light. “ Come for a turn in my gondola ? You owe that 
to the patient guide. I’ve been here three mornings 
running on the chance of a word with you. And one 
can’t talk properly in a church.” 

Isoel realized that a fresh refusal might risk now the 
severance of their new friendship. This was the mo- 
ment to be gracious. 

“ It’s very tempting. I feel so lazy.” She stepped 
down into the boat. 

As the young couple seated themselves and Doran 
tipped the sacristan, he did not guess that behind his 
back the gondolier had made a gesture of blowing a kiss 
to the blue sky. He approved of his master’s choice. 

Pietro, as the boat moved off, responded to this panto- 
mime with the keen interest of his race in a love in- 
trigue. He blessed the pair : “ Buona fortuna — and 

many babes ! ” Then slowly re-entered the church to 
keep an eye on the party inside and exchange art-knowl- 
edge for macaroni. 

Isoel unfurled her sunshade. It was in that tender 
shade of green to be found in young lily leaves, match- 
ing the tulle round her white throat. 

Doran studied the effect. 

“ You look more like a flower than ever. No, it’s 
not a compliment and you needn’t start at once to snub 
me ! I’m simply — a lover of Nature. But I can’t 
think what flower it is. Ah — I’ve got it! The Eve- 
ning Primrose. You know those subtle scented things 
that only unfold their petals at night?” 

“ Yes. But this is broad sunshine.” 

“ That’s why you’re furling your leaves above it.” 
He laughed with a boyish ring. “ It adds to the mys- 
tery, your Gallic instincts coming in. Women are so 
obvious, as a rule. I mean the pretty ones. They 
drive their beauty home to you, with all their wares in 
the front window ! ” He smiled down at her lazily. 
“ But you’re wiser. You hold reserves. What’s the 
key to the enigma ? ” 

“Imagination,” she suggested. “A man finds what 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


119 

he looks for. And an Englishman is too lazy to probe 
far beneath the surface. He takes the world at its face 
value.” 

“Why speak so scornfully? You’re English yourself 
on your father’s side.” 

He watched her, interested, as they rocked along 
through narrow waters. The soft music of the oar and 
the faint echo of ripples that splashed against the sides 
of the gondola soothed her into a reverie. Her eyes, 
half-closed, looked dreamily out on the long vista of 
shadowing houses that leant confidentially over the 
stream, whispering secrets of ancient stones. 

“ I don’t feel English at all in Venice,” she said at 
last, with a happy sigh. “ I feel as if I’d come home 
again after a long and stormy voyage. You see I lived 
in the South for years, all my childhood. I suppose it’s 
in one’s blood, the love of the sun,” her voice sank, “ and 
the sense of freedom and idle hours.” 

“You’re right.” He entered into her mood. “It 
calls one back. I feel that too. Would you like to see 
my old home ? ” 

“ I should.” 

He turned to the gondolier. She listened to his fluent 
order. 

“ I wish that I could speak Italian. It’s so musical ; 
nothing jars.” 

“ Wait till you hear them quarrelling.” Doran sud- 
denly drew himself up in the deep well of the boat- 
“How odd! Look there!” He pointed before them 
with a hand well-shaped but deeply scarred. 

Isoel noticed this and wondered. 

They had come to a narrow fondamenta where stood 
r row of humble shops that ended in a restaurant. It 
was at this that Doran stared. 

“ There must have been an awful row ! ” 

For the place was gutted. Broken chairs and marble 
tops off the twisted tables littered the entrance; jagged 
splinters showed where the frame had once held glass. 
A pair of tall Guarde civile paced outside with a mar- 
tial swagger in their gay plumed hats and white gloves, 
keeping, too late, law and order. 

Doran questioned the gondolier. The man replied 


120 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


volubly, with vivid gesture, his swarthy face lit up witK 
a fierce joy. 

Isoel, turning sideways, tried to follow the dialogue. 
Again she saw the hard alertness replace Doran’s lei- 
surely manner, the keen insistence of his glance. He 
looked every inch a soldier. 

Basta!'' He checked the man and turned to ex- 
plain to his companion. “ It’s as I thought — a sign of 
the times. The padrone was an Austrian. He boasted 
about the Russian set-back last night when the place 
was full and a painter from Moscow got up and 
harangued the mob. They set to and wrecked the 
cafe. I think Italy’s coming in. It only needs a slender 
excuse. The spark’s there smouldering and D’Annunzio 
is fanning it. He voices the hopes of the patriots. 
There’s something Homeric about a poet singing the 
nation to war.” 

“ Splendid ! ” Her eyes shone. Will it come sud- 
denly, do you think ? ” 

Chi lo sa? ” He shrugged his shoulders, relapsing 
into a lazier mood. You may wake up one fine night 
and find the Austrians bombarding Venice; big guns 
out at sea and hydroplanes in the lagoons. Bombs fall- 
ing. Would you be scared?” 

“ I don’t think so. Not at first. It would be too 
wonderful and exciting. Besides — ” she laughed — 
there’s always the train.” 

“ Not if they blew up the bridge to Mestre. I should 
come for you in a gondola, and we’d steal down behind 
the sand-banks, dodging the moonlight in the reeds until 
we reached Chioggia. Would you trust yourself to 
me? ” 

“ Yes, then.” Her voice was dreamy. She was lost 
in that vision of the night, love and death hand in hand, 
out on the last great adventure. 

“ Why ‘ then ’ ? ” he prompted softly. 

“An English soldier,” she said simply, without fur- 
ther explanation. 

“ Ah, you’re not a foreigner now. There spoke the 
true Briton. Socially we’re a failure ; we don’t ‘ look 
beneath the surface.’ But when it comes to a tight cor- 
ner our honour’s good enough for you.” 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


121 


She liked him for this little outburst. 

“ I never suggested that it wasn’t.’’ 

“Yet you won’t come with me to Murano? No, 
that’s unfair. I take it back.” He was watching her 
narrowly. 

“ Is that a test?” she parried, smiling. 

“No — yes! You mean you’ll come?” His voice 
was eager. Unconsciously he moved a little nearer her. 
All memory of that scene at Clotilde’s and the secret he 
held had passed from his mind. He was playing a 
deeper game than he knew; one as old as the world it- 
self. 

“ Very well. I give in ! ” She lowered her parasol 
as they came to a bridge so near the water that the 
gondolier bent double. As they slipped into the cool 
shadows, Doran laid his hand on hers. 

“You’re a dear!” He whispered the words, his lips 
close to her shining hair. She lay quite still beneath his 
touch, wise in her instinct of non-resistance. 

“ Are you trying to make me regret it already ? ’’ 
Her voice was cool, with a trace of disdain. 

Stung, he drew away from her. 

“ Sorry.” The word was jerked out. 

She did not feel so calm as she looked. This play- 
ing with fire was perilous. But, oh, what a glorious 
game it was I She exulted in her new-found power. 

A little silence fell between them. They emerged into 
the Grand Canal and she gazed up at the fine Palazzo 
Corner della Ca Grande. 

“ About that miracle ? ” she asked, anxious to break 
the spell. “ Are you really cured ? ” 

He nodded his head. 

“ I haven’t had a bad attack since the day you were 
so kind to me. By the way, talking of miracles, one 
happened on this very spot. A quaint one, concerning 
a child. You see I’ve remembered my duty as guide.’' 

“ Tell me.” IsoH smiled. 

Thus encouraged he launched out. 

“ There was once a little Venetian countess, heiress 
to a great fortune, but so devout that her parents feared 
she might end by becoming a nun. She used to wor- 
ship every day in the church of San Vio across the canal. 


122 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


and at last they forbade the gondoliers to ferry her to 
her heart’s desire. The little maid was all forlorn. She 
came down to the water’s edge and prayed to the Saints 
for inspiration. Then she spread her pinafore on the 
waves, stepped securely on to it and sailed across to the 
other shore! Isn’t that a pretty fable?” 

She nodded her head thoughtfully. 

“ But it’s true, isn’t it ? ” she asked. 

“ To those who believe in miracles. Do you ? ”, 
Doran was amused. 

“ It’s part of my faith. I’m a Catholic.” 

“ Then the little Contessa Tagliapietra’s action seems 
nothing out of the common ? ” 

“ Well — ” She smiled at his wondering glance — 

I don’t expect it happens often.” 

He changed the subject tactfully. 

“ Do you see that palazso — the third from here — 
with the finely carved balconies? That’s where I first 
saw the light. We lived there for ten years.” He 
sighed as he finished the phrase. “ On and off — a jolly 
time! You can imagine the fine games I played pre- 
tending I was a pirate ! ” 

“ Quite. I should think you simply loved it.” To 
herself she added, “ They must have been rich. And 
his father is dead ? ” 

She gave a start as the midday gun went off with a 
deep vibrating note. 

Mezso-giorno ! ” He looked at his watch. ‘‘ What 
time do you lunch ? ” 

“ Now,” she laughed. Will you put me down at 
that landing-stage. I can get home by a short cut.” 
She pointed towards the Accademia. 

‘‘But why shouldn’t I take you direct?” 

“ No.” She had her own reasons. 

Perhaps he guessed them for he smiled. 

“ And Murano ? What about to-morrow ? ” She 
thought for a moment before replying. He watched 
her face with growing concern. “ You’re never going 
to back out of it now ? ” 

She shook her head. 

“ I was thinking of plans. You see, I promised Mr. 
Phipps — 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


123 

This was pure imagination but it answered its pur- 
pose. Doran scowled. 

Oh, bother Phipps ! You knew me first.’’ 

By a few hours.” She conceded sweetly. “ Yes, 
to-morrow will do, if it’s fine. I can go out with him in 
the morning to see that old curiosity shop. I’ll meet 
you here at two o’clock. Will that suit you ? ” 

They drew up at the steps. 

“Splendidly.” He helped her out. “You won’t 
forget? If you do. I’ll come round and murder Phipps 
or kidnap him and pack him off to do his duty at the 
Front.” 

“ Why doesn’t he ? ” she asked quickly. 

“ I think he’d like to.” He played fair. “ But there’s 
opposition from the firm. He’s articled to his uncles, 
and I fancy that they’re short-handed.” 

“ Then why is he here, holidaying ? ” 

“ I can’t tell you.” His voice was dry. 

She held out her hand without further comment. 

“ Au revoir, and many thanks.” 

** Good-bye! '' Doran laughed. “Isn’t that the cor- 
rect response ? You see, I’ve a good memory.” 

“ Too good ! ” she flung back. 

He watched her cross the sunny square with that faint 
foreign swing of the hips, and vanish without further 
sign round the corner into the shadows. 

Aware of his waiting gondolier, he stepped back into 
the boat. 

casa/^ His voice was grim. He felt restless and 
impatient. For deep down in his heart was the knowl- 
edge that a man’s folly is better stopped at the outset. 
Yet he hankered for the full adventure. He passed a 
crowded gondola with a pretty brunette who glanced 
back and this revived his drooping spirits. 

“Well I’m in for it now,” he thought. “But the 
game’s quite worth the candle ! ” 


CHAPTER XII 


P hipps sat at a marble table in the front row of 
Florian's enjoying an aperitif and watching the 
crowd feed the pigeons. He had singled out a 
fair head under a wide-brimmed sailor hat and a slender 
figure with rounded curves in a dark serge dress that was 
backing towards him. 

Pigeons circled wildly about her. 

Viens, petit!'’ She stretched out her hand, where 
the grains of corn caught the light and stood, rigid, as 
a bird settled fluttering on her wrist. 

He was sure now. It was IsoH Dark. 

Two more with a whirr of wings followed the first 
pigeon’s example ; another preened itself on her shoulder. 
He could catch her profile, lips parted with the eager 
pleasure of the moment. 

Two men brushed past her and the pigeons scattered 
in a flash. She gave a gesture of impatience and, see- 
ing her unwanted neighbours had paused to look back at 
her, she threw the remainder of the grain into the air 
and beat a retreat. 

Phipps rose and checked this manoeuvre. 

“ Miss Dark ! ” His merry voice reached her, and she 
turned round. 

“ Good morning.” She was glad to see a friendly 
face in the crowd. “ I’ve been feeding the pigeons. 
Aren’t they dears ? ” 

“ Who wouldn’t be, with the chances they have ? 
Fancy eating out of your hands! Come and drink out 
of mine. I’m only speaking figuratively.” 

She could not resist his sunny humour. 

“At this hour in the morning?” 

“ Why, dear lady, it’s the hour. Breakfast appears 
to have been a dream and lunch is a doubtful possibility. 
All nature cries vermouth. Here we are! Take this 

124 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 125 

chair. Now then, what shall it be? ‘One of Torino,* 
or a syrup ? ** 

“ What does that taste like ? ** She looked at his 
glass. 

“ Nectar — with a dash of quinine ! It’s ordered by 
all the best doctors. Keeps off malaria and spotted 
fever, and hopeless love — so I’m told ! ” 

“Dare I? Will it go to my head?” 

“Never!” He called the waiter promptly. Anche 
uno” he brought out. 

“ Yessir,” said the man gravely. 

Isoel laughed. 

“ You’re getting on. Even the natives understand 
you. How very smart we are to-day!” 

For Phipps was resplendent in new grey flannels, a 
deep blue tie that matched his eyes and a rakish-looking 
panama drawn down over his chubby face. 

“ I came out to conquer Venice.” 

“ Any success ? ” She was flippant. 

“ Yes, now.” He raised his glass. “ To those belli 
occhi. Is that right ? ” 

“ Don’t ask me. I’ve only begun to take lessons in 
the language.” 

“ And is our V.C. a good teacher ? ” 

She looked at him with open surprise. 

“I don’t understand. Who do you mean?” 

“ Oh, ye little stars and fishes ! Doran, of course — 
the preiix chevalier — yes, I can speak French as well — 
why pretend that you didn’t know ? ” 

“ It’s the honest truth. I hadn’t heard.” The colour 
had warmed her pretty face. “ Is he really a V.C. ? 
How did he get it?” 

Phipps chuckled. 

“ Ask him. He’ll be so pleased.” 

But she saw through his little trick. 

“ I shall tell him you were my informant.” 

“ For heaven’s sake, don’t ! He’d half-kill me. 
Doran’s a rum chap. Though I like him,” he added 
quickly. “ We were at school together, you know. St. 
Paul’s. After he left Eton.” 

“Left Eton?” She raised her brows. 

“ Had to ; when the smash came. Hard lines on a 


126 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


chap who’d been brought up to expect his path smoothed 
for him everywhere ; Eton, Sandhurst and the Guards ! 
I shouldn’t have had the pluck myself.” 

“Explain these mysteries to me?” She lifted the 
glass the waiter had brought and took a sip doubtfully. 

“ Like it ? ” He watched her, amused. 

“ I think I shall. In time,” she laughed. 

“After weVe finished the bottle between us? Pic- 
ture the scandal ! Arm in arm, rolling home to the 
pensioyi. Look here, have a syrup?” 

“ No. Please go on with your story.” Bravely she 
tried the vermouth again. “ It grows on one,” she de- 
cided. 

“ Like a fungus ! ” Phipps suggested. “ Don’t blame 
me if you get the habit. Well, let me see — where was 
I?. Singing the praises of my rival.” He gave her a 
pathetic glance. “ What do I get out of this ? ” 

“ Chess, to-night,” she said promptly. 

“ Good. I’m on ! ” He sobered down. “ Did you 
never hear, by chance, of the famous L^dy Caroline?” 

“No. You mean our friend’s mother?” 

He nodded his head. “Between ourselves she was a 
bit — well, you know ! The Garths are all pretty rapid. 
She was engaged to Spencer Peel but threw him over 
for David Doran, quite an unknown man at the time, a 
young painter, living in Venice. Would do it! Noth- 
ing would stop her. Head over heels in love with him. 
To every one’s great surprise the curious match seemed 
a success. Doran worshipped the ground she trod on. 
I had the story from my uncle who was a friend of 
Lord Garth’s agent. 

“ They’d three children, two girls and a boy, and after 
ten years abroad — for she’d quarrelled with her fam- 
ily — they went home for their education. 

“ Francis was sent to Eton. He was destined for the 
army, always wanted to be a soldier. Odd how he’s got 
his way in the end.” Phipps became suddenly thought- 
ful. “ Though I rather doubt, between you and me, if 
he’ll ever see active service again.” 

“Do you think he’s really as bad as that?” IsoH 
asked anxiously. 

“P’r’aps not. Time will tell. Well, to get back to 


A DREAlvrER OF DREAMS 


127 


my story. Lady Caroline, once more in the old fa- 
miliar life, seemed to make up for lost time. Gaieties 
from morning till night! She entertained half London. 
Royalty took her up and poor old Doran didn’t count. 
He simply loathed the life they led, with no peace or 
leisure for work — and he was a fine painter, mind you, 
beginning to make a name for himself. 

“ It became a toss-up between his art and guarding 
his wife’s reputation. He played the game gallantly; 
and then, at last, something happened. Nobody knows 
exactly what. Some people say that the Royal favour 
had become a trifle too pronounced. Anyhow,” — he 
shrugged his shoulders — “ the pair parted, by ‘ mutual 
consent ’ — not a legal separation — with the usual fight 
over the children. David Doran had no income be- 
yond what he made by portrait-painting and Lady Caro- 
line wanted the boy. But he stuck to his father through 
thick and thin, though it broke up his own career. And 
pretty thin it was at times I I’ve known Francis make 
his lunch off an apple and a crust. A day-scholar at St. 
Paul’s I A bit of a change after Eton — eh ? His 
father wasn’t the popular painter who follows a fash- 
ion, and, after the rupture, without the support of his 
wife’s friends, he slipped into a quiet circle of a few 
real connoisseurs and artists sincere like himself. He 
wouldn’t pander to the crowd. That’s not the way to 
make money.” 

“But Mr. Doran’s rich now?” She put the ques- 
tion casually though her heart was Ideating rather fast. 

“ Rolling I ” Phipps laughed. “ That’s the funny 
part of it. His mother left him everything! Well, 
she was queer — like all the Garths. I suppose she ad- 
mired the boy’s pluck. Her husband wasn’t mentioned 
at all. She never forgave him for refusing to fall in 
with her escapades. Wasn’t it a turn of the wheel? A 
beautiful home in Dorsetshire and a solid fifteen thou- 
sand a year.” 

Isoel’s cheeks flushed pink. 

“ He deserved it,” she said warmly. For, apart from 
her interest in his wealth, the picture of that youthful 
champion, loyal to his impoverished father appealed to 
her imagination. “I suppose they launched out then?” 


128 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


“ Hardly at all. A pair of cranks.'^ Phipps returned 
her incredulous smile. “ They went on living as before 
in a tiny house off the Fulham Road, with occasional 
jaunts on the Continent, let the place to Americans. 
Francis, when he left Oxford — I forgot to tell you 
he’d worked like a nigger at St. Paul’s and won a 
scholarship — was eventually called to the bar. It was 
too late to think of the army. He was just beginning 
to make a start when his father died and the war broke 
out. Off he went at once to enlist. 

“ They offered him a commission later and then he 
got his V.C. for a fine piece of heroism.” 

“ But what did he do ? ” she insisted. 

“ Oh, I forgot you hadn’t heard. They were cut off 
from their supports and he went back through a barrage 
fire with a message. And returned — by Jove! That’s 
the astounding part of it. Fancy facing that hell twice! 
The reserves came up just in time and if it hadn’t been 
for Doran they’d all of them been wiped out. But he 
stopped a bullet on the way though he struggled on in 
spite of this and several other minor wounds. Haven’t 
you seen his scarred hands? He put them up before his 
face. Oh, he’s a jolly fine chap I ” His enthusiasm 
swept him away. “ He deserves the very best in life.” 

The girl nodded, her brain in a whirl. 

“ I’d no idea. He never seemed to want to talk about 
the war.” 

Phipps grunted. 

‘‘ He’s not the sort to like his photo in the papers 
standing before Buckingham Palace with the Victoria 
Cross in his hand, showing it to a babe in a pram, with 
an eye on the pretty nurse I ” 

The little tirade relieved his feelings. He relapsed 
into his frivolous mood. 

^ “ Perhaps he’ll show it to you one day, if you’re very 
nice. I shouldn’t wonder! Flow did you enjoy Mu- 
rano?” liis blue eyes were mischevious. He had met 
the pair returning home. 

“ Very much,” she said sedately. “ It’s wonderful to 
see a man — just a common workman — twist about 
that molten glass with a pair of pincers, blow on it and 
evolve with apparent carelessness those fragile-looking 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


129 

flowers and dolphins! I could stand watching it for* 
hours. I suppose it’s an inherited art ? ” 

“ I believe it’s passed from father to son.” Phipps 
was not interested. Humanity in his own class appealed 
to him more, with its weaknesses. He wondered if 
Isoel liked Doran? 

She^ leaned back in her chair watching the people in 
the Piazza. 

“ Look at that girl with the red hair. I suppose that’s 
the real Venetian type though I haven’t seen many yet. 

, Is it true they used to get the colour through sitting 
, bareheaded in the sunshine by the canals and wetting 
their locks from time to time? I suppose it’s the action 
I of the salt.” 

“ Don’t ask me. I hate red hair.” 

‘‘ Oh I ” She turned, mischievous. ‘‘ And what about 
Miss Percival?” 

Phipps tried to look self-conscious. 

“ I don’t gather what you mean ? ” 

Don't yon!" She rose from her chair. ‘‘Well, 
here she comes with her mamma. I’ll leave you to their 
tender mercies. So many thanks for my dissipation.” 
She waved her hand towards the vermouth. “ It’s 
rather like Mrs. Percival : sweet, with a bitter after- 
math. I’m sure it must be a splendid tonic ! ” 

''Don't desert me,” Phipps entreated; but she 
slipped away, finger to lip. He nodded his head, under- 
standing, as the pair of busybodies approached. “ So 
fair and yet so cruel ! ” Phipps resigned himself to fate. 
He straightened his tie surreptitiously and ordered an- 
other glass of vermouth. 

Meanwhile Isocd walked quickly through the arcades 
and past the Loggetta until she came to the water. 

Should she take a gondola ? It seemed rather extrava- 
gant, but she wanted a quiet time to think. 

As she paused, debating the question, she saw a woman 
passing her in a coat and skirt of “ putty ” cloth and 
recognized a Clotilde model. Something familiar in the 
face with its pointed chin and hazel eyes riveted her at- 
tention. Why, it was Mrs. Serocold I 

The client’s name was familiar to her. She recalled a 
strong altercation, between “ Monsieur ” and his wife, on 


130 THE BEST IN LIFE 

the subject of an overdue account that ran into three 
figures. 

“ Monsieur ” had counselled patience. He had made 
inquiries about the husband; a wealthy man untouched 
by the war, at least to any serious extent. Let the cus- 
tomer order some more costly gowns for the spring be- 
fore they moved in the matter. Their books had shown 
a falling-off of habituees in these evil days and they 
risked losing a rich client by resorting to legal meas- 
ures. 

The memory made Isoel smile. How far away those 
days seemed! Then another thought struck her. 

She remembered that she had talked to the lady her- 
self, standing posed in the very model from which this 
well-cut gown was copied. Would Mrs. Serocold recog- 
nize her? 

Moved by a sudden impulse, she turned and followed 
in her wake. 

Mrs. Serocold walked briskly, with short steps, in 
her high-heeled shoes. She was rather stiff in her car- 
riage, which suggested that she was at the mercy of a 
stern c or setter e. She shaded her face, which owed its 
charm to an impertinent little nose and a carefully pre- 
served complexion, with a dark blue en-tout-cas and 
from her wrist swung a gold chain purse, cigarette- 
holder and powder-box. 

Isoel noted all these details as she moved a few paces 
behind. She decided that the pleated skirt was a little 
too short for her full figure, that her shoulders were get- 
ting a shade too plump and that her hair looked artificial. 

They passed the portico of St. Mark’s and here Mrs. 
Serocold turned to the right and made for the open 
door of “ Cook’s.” She went in, and IsoH paused out- 
side to gaze into the window at the gay pamphlets and 
pictures of ships and decide upon her course of action. 

It might be useful in the future to avoid this phantom 
from the past, though she did not suspect in the least 
that Clotilde’s client knew Doran. From where she her- 
self had stood in the show-room she could not see more 
than the vague outline of a man in khaki on the bal- 
cony. 

Still it was well to be prudent. She decided to put 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


131 

it to the test and if she were recognized to beat a re- 
treat hastily. 

Through the glass she could see Mrs. Serocold cash- 
ing a draft at the counter and tucking the notes in her 
gold bag with a loving care and exactitude. 

“ Fond of money,” she said to herself as the lady, her 
mission accomplished, strolled across to a side table and 
opened the massive Visitors’ Book. 

She ran her finger down the entries until she came 
to a certain name and stood for a moment thoughtfully, 
her hazel eyes turned to the light, a shrewd smile on her 
lips. She looked now ten years older, for the glare 
showed up the tiny lines and the loose skin in the base 
of her throat. 

“ Would pass for thirty in candlelight,” was Isoel’s 
merciless summing-up. 

Then she gathered her courage together and ad- 
vanced as the lady prepared to depart. They met in 
the narrow doorway with the furtive appraisement of two 
women who know their value in men’s eyes. 

Mrs. Serocold’s cool stare raked the pretty face be- 
fore her and passed on indifferently to a party of tour- 
ists in the Piazza. 

Good ! ” Isoel felt relieved. As an excuse for her 
visit she demanded the trains to Padua. 

An attentive young clerk wrote them down neatly 
for her on a slip of paper, remarked that the day was 
delightfully warm, rubbed his hands as though they 
were chilly and suggested that Venice was “ filling up,” 
despite the war, but with “ few Germans.” They 
“would not be missed,” he insinuated and cackled over 
his little joke. She freed herself from his attentions 
and following Mrs. Serocold’s lead took a peep at the 
Visitors’ Book. 

“ Fm getting a regular Sherlock Holmes ! ” she de- 
cided gaily. “ But Pd like to know who her friends 
are. One never can tell! It’s a small world. It was 
on the last page, half-way down.” 

She deciphered the straggling list of names, amused 
at a German signature, very ornate and followed by the 
casual after-thought “ and wife,” then stopped dead, her 
eyes narrowed. 


132 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


In a firm but small hand was inscribed: “Francis 
M. Doran, London.” Beyond it was “ Hotel Danieli.” 

It gave her a little shock. She closed the book and 
passed out into the sunshine. Instinctively she turned 
into the great church, seeking the cool space and si- 
lence. 

Absently she genuflected before the far distant altar 
and, moving into a side chapel, deserted by the sight- 
seers, sat down on a chair beside an erection where wax 
candies were ranged to attract the pious. 

“ I must think.” Her arched brows were knit, her 
chin cupped in her hand. “Of course I may have been 
mistaken, but she seemed to pause at that very spot. 
Now, supposing he is a friend of hers and I meet them 
together, what shall I do? If I spoke she mrght recall 
my voice and that would upset all my plans. She looks 
a dangerous enemy, and if ever a woman is a cat it’s 
when her looks are on the wane. It would be no use 
bluffing. She has only to write a line to Clotilde. Why 
didn’t I change my name ? ” 

Here was an unforseen disaster. The fairy prince of 
her dreams, so utterly desirable, whirled away upon a 
broomstick by a witch with a pointed chin ! 

For, since her long talk with Phipps, Doran had 
gained immeasurably in importance in the girl’s eyes; 
not only through the fact of his wealth, his birth and 
hi^ martial honours, but because of that force of char- 
acter, surmised before and now proven by the stern 
romance of his boyhood. 

Here was no easy victim swayed by the impulse of 
his passions. Her pride revolted at the thought that 
Doran might consider her in the light of a passing 
amusement. She realized that the man admired her, 
sought her out determinedly; but then, as he himself 
admitted laughingly, it was “ part of his cure.” He 
was bored to death alone in Venice. He offered himself 
a diversion. And if he once knew her for what she 
was — she pressed her hands to her hot cheeks — he 
would consider her “ fair game.” She had no delusions 
on that score ! 

So far she had steadily held her own. But, during 
their trip to Murano, they had slipped into an under- 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


133 

standing, outwardly friendly but full of the deep and 
subtle excitement of a flirtation. 

She would never have such a chance again : the same 
sunny environment with the helpful presence of Mrs. 
Brace and the slight spur of rivalry introduced by Stacy 
Phipps. For Doran was inclined to be jealous, though 
he would not have admitted the fact. 

She wondered how long she could afford to stay in 
Venice? Hurriedly she ran through her finances and 
the cloud lifted from her face. What a power money 
was ! And she owed it all to Sir Abel Groot. 

She had heard from him that very morning, a short 
and business-like epistle. For Sir Abel was a cautious 
man. He had won his success in life through this and 
an instinct regarding money that almost amounted to 
clairvoyance. 

She had told him the gossip of the pension amus- 
ingly, and the friends she had made, but for some odd 
reason she had refrained from all mention of Doran’s 
name. 

“ Fm glad now.” She bit her lip. ‘‘If things go 
wrong he can’t chaff me.” A sudden wave of temper 
shook her. “ But they shan’t! He’s mine. I’ll make 
him care ! ” 

A woman with a dark shawl drawn over her head and 
shoulders stole up through the gloom and kneeling on 
the worn pavement began to drone over her beads. 

Click, click, the rosary rattled in the heavy silence, its 
owner lost to the world around her. 

Isoel watched her, fascinated. For the first time she 
became aware of the charm of this little chapel, sacred 
to St. Isidore. Dim and softened by the gloom, mosaics 
glimmered on the walls ; the altar boasted a pair of lions 
on either side and embossed on the front, she could just 
discern some frenzied horses dragging the Saint to his 
martyrdom. From far away came a note of chanting, 
a thin dirge-like ribbon of sound that varied from tone 
to semi-tone, measured and melancholy. 

The bending figure finished her prayers and rose to 
her feet, gathering up a market basket covered by a 
faded square of blue linen. As she passed Isoel’s 
chair, the latter caught a glimpse of her face, pale and 


134 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


mournful, with wide dark eyes, mystical as a painted 
Madonna’s. 

The sacred atmosphere began to react upon the girl 
herself. Alone once more, she slipped down on to her 
knees, her hands folded. But her prayers would not 
form themselves into words, lost in the endless conflict 
between wordly desire and religion. 

She relinquished the effort and gave herself up to a 
vague vision, feeling the peace of the sanctuary weigh 
down on her like wings that closed above her head. And 
slowly inspiration came. She would take a vow upon 
herself. If the Virgin would grant her request she 
swore to be a good wife, to relinquish all further 
dreams of ambition, a true daughter of the Church. 

She was quite sincere in this pitiful bargain of frail 
humanity with the powers eternal and unwavering. 
She saw nothing inadequate in the gift and its reward. 
And, having added a pattered ave, she rose, joyous to 
her feet and paid a toll in advance, slipping a lira into 
the Poor-box. 

Dusting her skirt she gave the curls on either cheek 
a little pat and with a mystical light in her eyes, high 
hope in her heart, she passed out of that great gold 
vault, sheltering the bones of Mark. 


CHAPTER XIII 


R ain had descended upon Venice. 

The evening sky was blotted out and an opal 
mist curled up from the sea to join the steady 
downward drizzle. From the narrow calle rose a smell 
of mouldy walls, and everywhere roofs dripped and the 
grey canals filled and gathered in the refuse, barely no- 
ticed in the sunshine, which littered steps and dark arch- 
ways. Gone were the brightly coloured garments that 
hung from the upper windows, often in rags but adding 
to the festal appearance like gay banners. Women with 
their winter shawls drawn tightly over their heads and 
wound round their graceful bodies picked their way over 
the pavements, where little streams between the stones 
ran feverishly to the nearest canal, and. everywhere was 
the “ glop, glop ’’ of small impromptu waterfalls. 

A few gondolas persisted, funereal with their raised 
felze, no longer leisurely pleasure-craft but serving the 
purposes of cabs. 

From one of these, at eight o’clock with a little shiver 
of disgust, a dainty lady stepped forth on to the de- 
serted riva in front of the Hotel Danieli. The hall 
porter hastened forward, a vast green umbrella in hand, 
and escorted her across the pavement. 

Discarding her damp cloak in the entrance she moved 
instinctively to a mirror, with an anxious glance at her 
waved hair under its becoming toque. 

Doran waited, smiling a little until the lady turned 
again, evidently satisfied, then he advanced to greet his 
guest. 

“This is awfully good of you, Tory. I was afraid 
that the rain might stop you. No need to ask how you 
are! You’re looking radiant, as ever.” 

“ I don’t believe it. I’m so cold. Feell^* She placed 
both her hands, sparkling with rings, in his. “ It’s 
worse than England and my hotel hasn’t a single Chris- 
tian fire-place ! ” 

“ You poor child ! ” He smiled at her, but released 

135 


136 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


her fingers carelessly. ** The dining-room is nice and 
warm, shall we go in? Or aren’t you hungry?” 

Famished ! The food’s so poor at my place. IVe 
a great mind to move here.” She gave him a coquettish 
glance as they crossed the hall and added quickly, 

Though I suppose it wouldn’t do.” 

‘‘ Why not ? ” He evaded the point. 

She made.no immediate response but when they were 
seated at the table, her gold purse by her side with a 
pair of long suMe gloves, she returned to the attack. 

“You and I — here alone? It’s tempting, but far too 
risky. Though it’s just like old times to-night.” She 
sighed, then pouted her reddened lips as Doran refused 
to follow her lead. 

Instead, he looked mischievous. 

“ It needs Felix to complete it.” 

“Oh, don’t remind me of him! I’ve come to Venice 
to forget. You’ve no idea what it’s like now. This 
war has given him his chance. He’s gone mad on econ- 
omy ; it always was a hobby of his. I believe he’s grate- 
ful to the Huns ! ” 

“As bad as that?” Doran frowned. 

“ Yes. He’s actually sold the ‘ Mastiff ’ and we’ve 
only got the ‘ Pup ’ between us.” She referred to the 
big Rolls-Royce and their other car, a landaulette. “ Of 
course he takes it to the city every morning and there I 
am, reduced to taxis, which I hate I ” 

“ Or omnibuses,” the soldier suggested. 

“Oh, I couldn’t!^' She gave a shiver. “It isn’t fair 
that we should be asked to make so many sacrifices 
when you think how we’re paying for the war with this 
terrific income-tax. The Government ought to see to 
it. What are they doing ? ” She spread out her hands. 
“And look at all the charities! Felix is not hit at all. 
I know that for a fact. It’s sheer meanness, nothing 
Hse. He actually suggested to me that I should part 
with Therese ! I assure you, it made me quite ill. I 
went to bed and sent for the doctor, and he ordered me 
a thorough change, recommended the Riviera.” She 
broke off. “ What nice soup ! ” 

“ Glad you think so. The food’s not bad. Better 
than we get in the trenches ! ” His voice was a shade 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


137 


ironical. No man who has once been involved in the 
deadly vortex of this war can bear to hear it treated 
lightly by those who grudge the price of munitions. 
Still it was only a passing cloud. He went on more 
genially, “ Poor old Tory ! It’s hard lines. Though 
every one’s in the same boat.” 

“Every one’s not married to Felix!” She laughed 
back, a little shrilly, and Doran politely joined in. 

“ vSo, after all, you came to Venice?” 

“ Yes. I had a letter from Cossie who’s trying a 
system at Monte Carlo and he said that the whole place 
was changed, crowded out with wounded soldiers. 
None of the old gaiety! So then I decided on Italy, 
where, thank heaven, there’s no war ! I really needed 
cheering up, and although I know Rome and Naples, I’ve 
never been here before. I can’t say I care for the cli- 
mate, if this is a fair specimen.” 

“But think of yesterday,” he pleaded. “Wasn’t it 
a glorious morning? I was surprised when I ran across 
you, strolling calmly in the Piazza. Awfully pleased! 
It was quite a joy to see a really well-dressed woman. 
People here are distinctly dowdy.” 

She drank in the compliment and instinctively stroked 
down the soft folds of her black gown, veiled over her 
full bosom ; but none the more discreet for that ! 

“ D’you like this frock? It’s one of Clotilde’s.” 

His face altered at the name. She made a false cal- 
culation, unaware how latterly it had loomed largely 
in his mind. 

“Surely you’ve forgiven me?” She adopted a baby- 
ish voice, with a pathetic little gesture. “ Naughty 
Fwancis ! Just becos Tory wanted a p’itty fwock ! ” 

, Oddly enough this absurd assumption of childishness 
suited her. The smooth face with its pointed chin and 
her plump figure suggested youth in the shaded lights; 
while her worldly eyes with a smiling note of provoca- 
tion added a touch of piquancy. 

Doran responded to her mood, amused by his own 
thoughts. 

“ Little Tory would have been smacked and put to 
bed if I’d had my way ! She didn’t think of my discom- 
fort amidst that — indecent display ! ” 


138 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


‘‘ My dear boy, it was only dresses ! And hats. 
What could be more correct ? ” 

And pretty milliners,’’ he suggested, “ who gave me 
the glad eye.” 

Did they?” her own twinkled. “ Now I know why 
Tm forgiven.” 

Doran was thinking hard. He wondered if he could 
pump Tory without raising her suspicions. He decided 
to risk it, with due caution. 

“ One of the girls was uncommonly smart. That dark 
one who came in first.” 

“ Rosalie ? ” She raised her brows. “ But the other 
had the best figure.” 

“Yes, perhaps.” He nodded his head. “I was 
wondering in what class they were. A shade above the 
shop-girl, what ? ” 

“ In manners perhaps, if not in morals ! ” Her voice 
was supercilious. Clotilde has them trained, I hear, 
how to walk and enter a room and to speak with a 
Parisian accent! I suppose it pays her in the end.” 

“ You encourage me,” said Doran, smiling. “ Do you 
think Pd stand an earthly chance ? With ‘ dark Ro- 
saleen,’ for instance.” 

She gave a little shrug of her shoulders. 

“ Of course they’re all run by men I That’s a part 
of the arrangement. The salaries are absurdly small 
and Clotilde winks the other eye.” 

Doran felt exasperated. It was not so much the 
callous speech but the worldly knowledge that underlay 
it and the calm assumption of the speaker that a man- 
nequin had no morals. 

Was IsoH like that? If so, where was the man? It 
seemed hardly likely to Doran that she was financed by 
an admirer to enjoy herself “on her own” in Venice. 
Surely he would have come with her? 

On the other hand, if the salaries paid by Clotilde 
were so absurdly small, how could she afford the trip? 

Savings? He shrank from the thought. 

Could she be doing business in Venice? But then 
Mrs. Brace would have guessed it. He had no doubt 
on the latter’s caste. She would never take a mannequin 
under her exclusive wing! Or was the girl in truth a 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


139 


lady, reduced to earning her own living in this rather 
unpleasant way? Women took up odd trades now, tea- 
shops and tobacconist’s. 

His heart warred with his reason. For she lacked 
something he could not define, the unmistakable touch 
of breeding. Where she should have been self-assured 
she narrowly missed impertinence, and fluctuated be- 
tween a coldness, which was hardly warranted, and a 
flippant friendliness that held a symptom of nervousness. 

He had not been a barrister for nothing and the habit 
of keen observation persisted. 

All this passed swiftly through his mind before he re- 
verted to the topic. 

I suppose this war will make a difference ; there’s a 
big demand for feminine labour.” He spoke with a cer- 
tain gravity which surprised his frivolous companion. 
“ It always seems unfair to me that girls should get such 
poor wages and have to eke it out that way.” 

“ Have to ? ” Her chin went up. She gave a cynical 
little laugh. “ I suppose they know what they’re about 
and prefer it to shabby clothes,” 

“ I’m glad you don’t blame the men.” Quiet satire 
was in his voice. 

“Why should I?” She laughed again. “You’re 
such a funny boy, Francis. You always were, in the old 
days.” 

The waiter intervened with the wine. 

Mrs. Serocold tasted it and glanced up. 

“ It’s so nice ! What is it ? ” 

'' Lacriinae Christi, the Tears of Christ,” he trans- 
lated literally. An odd thought followed the words: 
the sorrow of the Perfect Man who cast no stones at 
a fallen woman. Surely a chivalry that should move 
to compassion her purer sisters? Doran, like most men, 
despised a tendency in the sex to minimize the charm 
and virtue of other women when admired. 

“ What a funny name for a wine ! ” Mrs. Serocold 
seemed amused. “ Perhaps the monks invented it ; they 
knew what was good, didn’t they? I like to try new 
things. That’s partly why I came to Venice. I hope 
you’re going to show me round. All the sights, both 
orthodox and those one doesn’t talk about ! ” 


140 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


“ That’s rather a large order.” He laughed. I’m 
supposed to be a competent guide to the former variety 
— having lived here for ten years — but my fault is 
I’m carried away by too much beauty. So now you’re 
warned ! ” 

She took the inference to herself. 

“ We’ll risk it together,” she answered gaily. 
“You’ve never said if you liked this frock? A new 
one, put on for you.” 

“Flattered! I think it’s charming. All I can see of 
it.” His glance, rather insolent, ran over the veiled 
decolletage and paused at a diamond arrow that held a 
knot of white bell-like flowers — where indeed, they 
were needed! 

He raised his eyes again to her face. 

“ It’s a triumph of skill over Nature ! ‘ Behold the 

lilies of the field ’ — ” 

Francis!’' She corrected him. “I don’t think 
you’ve improved. What have you been up to in Venice? 
It seems years since we met ! ” 

“ That’s the reason,” he said promptly, “ I need your 
restraining hand.” 

It lay at this moment on the table, playing with her 
gilded trifles. She opened it invitingly and smiled deep 
into his eyes. 

“ It’s always there — when you want it.” 

Doran looked down at her fingers. 

“ But you don’t wear my ring now ? It would hardly 
vie with the others.” 

“ It isn’t that,” she said quickly. “ But Felix — Oh, 
well, you know! My life’s hard enough as it is, and 
he’s always been so stupidly jealous. Rather a dog in 
the manger, too! Doesn’t care for his own biscuit, but 
nobody else must dare to nibble.” 

“ Mustn’t they ? ” The wine and light and this play- 
ing with words were stimulating, together with the 
memories, skilfully evoked by her, of their boy and girl 
love affair. 

Many a time since the day when Tory had broken off 
the engagement, frightened at his poverty, in favour of 
a wealthy man had Doran thanked the kindly fates for 
preserving him from an early marriage. Yet, every 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


141 

now and then, a spark from the old flame rose and 
quickened, and desire was bred from the ashes of love. 

He did not want her as a wife, yet he felt that pro- 
prietary instinct which a man who has raised a first pas- 
sion is conscious of physically. 

Now she played with his suggestion. 

“ It’s strictly against the law.” 

‘‘Who cares for the law? At least in Venice.” 

“ And you, a barrister ! ” she laughed. 

“ Then you might trust me to evade it.” 

He watched her refuse an ice and as the waiter went 
off he leaned forward and spoke softly. 

“ Let’s have our coffee up in my room. It’s far 
snugger.” She looked a shade taken aback and he ex- 
claimed with a smile, “ I’ve a sitting-room on the first 
floor and we should be able to talk in peace.” 

“Caw we? Is it safe?” Her eyes were bright, but 
she hesitated. “ You don’t know any one in the hotel? ” 

“ No, thank heaven.” He stood up. “ If we go now 
the hall will be empty. Come along, before it’s too 
late.” 

She nodded her head and led the way with the pleas- 
ant consciousness that people turned to stare at her and 
Doran. They made rather a striking pair. 

Once outside they glanced round guiltily and sped up- 
stairs, avoiding the lift. There was no one about. 

“ This way.” He held out his hand. She took it 
gaily. He drew her through the door of his room, 
closed it quickly and, stooping, kissed her in the dark. 

“ Francis!^* 

He let her go. 

“ I couldn’t help it. It’s such a lark ! ” He turned 
on the lights and added, laughing, “Shall I have to 
come up before Felix?” 

His tactlessness jarred on her. 

“ I wish you wouldn’t bring him in.” She spoke 
rather pettishly. 

“ It was not I who brought him in, in the first in- 
stance,” said Doran drily. 

“ No.” She sank down on the sofa, moved a little by 
his words. “What a fool I was — a little /ao/.'” She 
smote the hard sofa cushion, her gloves clenched in her 


142 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


hand. “ When I think of it — to give you up — for 
that! To lead the life I do. It’s like — who was the 
creature I mean, who starved with food all round him? 
Money, money everywhere ! And yet, here am I, 
ruined! Always in debt — bills — bills I And now—” 
Her head sank down in her hands. 

“Why, Tory!’' He looked aghast. He bent down 
over the sofa and patted her shoulder in the way that 
women invariably resent; a man’s caress to a child, 
holding a hint of patronage. Why couldn’t he take her 
in his arms? 

She flinched, raising strained eyes. 

“Oh, you don’t understand! How should you? 
I’m done for, this time. I’m in the most hopeless mess. 
That’s why I ran away from home — I couldn’t face it! 
When Felix knows — ” She drew a long sobbing 
breath. 

Doran’s face was grave now. 

“Tell me. That is, if you can; without betraying 
confidence.” 

“ Oh, it’s not that ! I wish it were.” The artless re- 
sponse made him smile. “ I can always manage men,” 
she said, “ except Felix. It’s something worse.” 

They started apart as the waiter tapped at the door 
and came in with the coffee. Mrs. Serocold looked 
angry. 

She had played her cards skilfully. But servants 
always interrupted at the moment when they were 
least wanted and were never there when you required 
them ! 

Doran added to her impatience by telling the man to 
draw the curtains. 

“ And make up the fire whilst you’re about it. That’s 
better.” He turned to his guest as the waiter obeyed 
him and retired. He was rather glad of the short res- 
pite. He had a man’s horror of “ scenes.” 

“Now then, a cup of coffee? It will do you good 
and then we’ll talk.” “ Beast ! ” thought Mrs. Serocold. 
“ Don’t you move. I’m bringing it.” 

“ Thanks.” She forced a pathetic smile. “ You’re a 
comforting soul, aren’t you, Francis?” 

“ Am I ? Glad to hear it.” He had got himself in 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


143 


hand again. “If it’s only money — ” His voice was 
cheerful. 

Her spirits revived at this remark. 

“Ah, it’s all very well for you. You lucky boy!” 
She patted the sofa by her side. “ Come here and sit 
down. You make me restless, wandering about.” 

Doran, armed with his coffee cup, obeyed. A silence 
fell between them. 

“ There ! ” She had drained the last drop. 

He rose and put the cup back, then returned to his old 
position. 

“Well, little woman?” He smiled at her as a 
brother might. “ Let’s hear it.” 

“ I’m afraid to tell you.” She played with her 
gloves. 

“Poor old Tory! Out with it.” 

“You won’t scold me?” Her lips quivered. 

“ I couldn’t, when you look like that.” 

“ Ah.” She moved a trifle closer. “ You remember 
the day I went to Clotilde’s ? ” 

“Yes.” He stared at her, surprised. Did every- 
thing in the world hinge round that mysterious estab- 
lishment ? 

“Well, I went out of desperation I owed her such 
a frightful lot, I thought of ordering something new to 
put her into a good temper.” 

“ I see — the homoeopathic method. Similia simili- 
bus curantur. Unluckily there comes an end to that 
form of logic in high finance.” 

“Yes — but you needn’t smile! I only wanted a few 
weeks. I knew that Felix would make me a present on 
my birthday. He’s rather archaic over dates and anni- 
versaries! So just before that solemn event I con- 
fessed that I had overdrawn and that Clotilde was pes- 
tering me. I only showed him the earlier bills and after 
a lecture that lasted for hours, with the war dragged in, 
and ‘ economy,’ he gave me a cheque for three hundred 
pounds.” 

“'Most noble Felix’! Weren’t you pleased?” 

“ Y — es.” Her voice was rather doubtful. “ Only 
he made one stipulation: that two-thirds of it should go 
to Clotilde.” 


144 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


“ Well, but wasn't that what you wanted ? " Doran 
looked at her curiously. 

“ It seemed rather hard, with a present. But I proni- 
ised him — " She broke off and laid a hand upon his 
arm. “If you’re going to be unkind to me — ” Tears 
welled up into her eyes. 

Doran hastily recanted. 

“ Sorry. I didn’t mean that. Poor old girl ! Go 
on.” 

^‘Sure?^* 

He took her fingers in his. 

“ I swear it. By the littlest one ! ” He pinched it 
lightly as he spoke. “ The one that ‘ went to market,’ 
you know, and found it had nothing in its purse! 
What did it do ? ” 

“ All sorts of folly 1 If only it had ‘ stayed at home.’ ” 
She sighed and resumed the story. “ I was going away, 
in a few days, to stay in Norfolk with Bertie Strode.” 

“ It doesn’t sound strictly proper.” 

Tory smiled. 

“Oh, don’t you know her? She’s a cousin of the 
Romillys. She’d asked me down for a ‘ quiet week.’ 
I wasn’t quite sure about it. People are so funny now. 
Tell you not to bring a maid and send for you in the 
station cab ! Besides the knitting from morning to night 
and everybody whipped in. But I found it quite comfy 
there, although they drew the line at champagne.” She 
wandered off on a side track. “ Between you and me, 
my dear, these country visits need champagne. With 
cold halls, and draughts in your neck, and evening 
dresses, and wind in the chimneys.” She shivered. “ I 
can’t hear to hear it! And besides it’s always rather 
an effort to talk to country people, I find. They’ve no 
real interests in life beyond what I call ‘ parochial mat- 
ters.’ The latest ‘ meet ’ and the state of the crops and 
whether Hodge will stand for Sludgeby ! ” 

Her wit carried her away and Doran joined in her; 
gay laugh. 

“ Not your style. I quite see that. But what hap- 
pened ? ” He was amused. This butterfly trailing a 
crumpled wing was as good as a play, he decided. 


A DREAMER OF DREAMS 


145 


“ There was nothing to do from morning to night 1 
Hardly a man in the place — ” 

Doran threw back his head and roared. 

“ That would limit your chances of mischief.^* 

“ It didn’t.’’ She smiled sadly. “ We played Bridge 
for high stakes. They always do down at Beechcroft. 
Have you noticed that it’s the one thing that is still 
sacred, the stakes of the house? War economy can’t 
touch it. It’s our last lingering tradition. Well, of 
course I couldn’t be out of it, though I’m not fond of play- 
ing with women. That is, without men. They’re so 
frightfully grasping over money! But at first I won — ” 
She paused and raised eyes grown tragic to his face. 
“And then I lost — everything!” 

“ Including the three hundred pounds. I suppose you 
hadn’t paid Clotilde ? ” 

“ No.” She bit her underlip and drew her hand away 
from his. 

He did not seem to notice this. He was sorry for 
her with a trace of contempt that embraced her sex. By 
a twist of logic he absolved her from the sterner code 
he exacted from his fellow men. What was a promise 
to a woman? Pretty things, with a sense of honour 
less defined and fluctuating. He pitied her. The feel- 
ing grew into one of amused tenderness. Some one 
ought to look after her? What was that husband of 
hers about? 

“ And now you daren’t confess to Felix. Is that it? ” 
His tone was gentle. 

“ I couldn’t ! But it’s worse than that. Clotilde 
threatens me with a writ.” 

“ When ? ” Doran spoke sharply. 

“ In less than a week ! ” She threw out her hands. 
“What shall I do? You can’t understand what it will 
mean for me — with Felix ! ” 

“ Yes, I can,” he said tersely. 

“ I thought perhaps if I were ill, here in Venice, he 
might relent. There are things one can take — ” Her 
eyes widened. 

“ Good Lord 1 ” He caught at her wrist. “ Tory ! 
You little fool!” 


1146 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


She collapsed weakly, hysterical under his touch, 
swaying forward against his shoulder. 

What does it matter ? IVe nothing to lose — to 
live for — ” A sob broke from her. “ I shouldn’t 
really care if — ” 

He checked her sternly, moved himself. 

“ And you never thought of coming to me, your oldest 
friend?” 

She stretched out her hands. 

'‘You — ” she sobbed. “Of all people! The only 
man I’ve ever loved! To lose — your respect — ” 

With an odd sound, midway between a laugh and a 
groan, Doran gathered her up in his arms. 


PART II 

jHE VISION splendid; 

CHAPTER Xiy 
’<‘TSOEL! IsoH!’’ 

I A voice came up out of the night to the girl 
A where she stood on her balcony, gazing down at 
the canal. 

The moon, white in the heavens, pierced through the 
indigo shadows of the narrow rio and turned the line 
of water into a shining blade, on which the bridges 
were impaled, in its outward thrust to the lagoon. 

The uneven line of roofs beyond was carved nett 
against the sky, deeply blue and alive with stars, that 
seemed to hang suspended in space, like the myriad 
lamps of a temple. 

The clarity of every object, save where the shadows 
lay like pools of blue-black ink, was almost uncanny. 
It produced a sense of unreality, like the view through 
a powerful field-glass of a distant scene brought start- 
lingly close. 

Isoel, absorbed in it, jumped as the summons reached 
her ears. 

A gondola had stolen up silently from the Grand 
Canal and now was lying motionless underneath her 
open window, the boatman leaning on his oar, and, be- 
yond him, a tall man in an overcoat stood erect with 
the moonlight on his face. 

‘‘Is that you, Mr. Doran There was no need to 
ask the question. She could see each feature, the dark 
brows, aquiline nose and firm chin and the small mous- 
tache, clipped close, that fringed the mobile legal mouth. 
For, although his bearing was that of the soldier, his 
earlier profession was marked by his lips, with their 
shrewd humorous curves, trained to careful enunciation. 

“ Who else ? ’’ He smiled back. “ Come out, fair 
lady! Tis a night when 

‘All that we see or seem 
Is but a dream within a dream.^ 

147 


148 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


You look like Juliet up there. If you don’t come 
down I shall climb up.” 

She gave an uncertain little laugh. 

“ Where are you going? ” 

“To the lagoon. Come with me? Slip on a coat 
and steal down warily. It’s such a night for adven- 
ture.” 

“ It’s late.” 

“ Never too late for Venice. The water is alive with 
boats. Can’t you hear the singing barges ? ” 

She listened, tempted against her reason. 

From far away a man’s deep voice came throbbing: 

^^Addioy anima mta , , 

It sank away and, through the silence, like a ripple 
of laughter, was followed closely by a chorus from an- 
other barge: 

**Ciribiribin, Ciribiribin ...” 

“I’ll come!” A spirit of recklessness took hold of 
her. “ Don’t stay there.” She lowered her voice. 

Take your boat to the second bridge and wait for me.” 

“You’re not playing me a trick?” His teeth flashed 
in the moonlight. 

“ No.” She disappeared from sight. 

As she wound a motor veil round her head and se- 
cured the ends of the gauze, her reason rose and pointed 
out the folly of this escapade. 

“ Now,” it warned her, “ you’re giving your foes 
something real to talk about.” 

“ I don’t care ! ” she flung back. “ I’m utterly sick of 
being good. I’d sooner have a little fun and pay for 
it than go on like this 1 ” 

Here was the mood that Patty feared. 

She slipped her arms into her coat, buttoned the strap 
round her slim waist with an air of wilful determina- 
tion and, disdaining gloves, sallied forth. 

/.s she tiptoed past the drawing-room door she could 
hear Mrs. Percival’s loud voice, rather tense, declare 
“ Four Hearts,” and Phipps’s eager, “ Double you ! ” 

She hated the young man at that moment and, by 
some feminine rule of logic, Doran appeared more de- 
sirable ; Doran, who was “ true to her ” ! 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


149 


She joined him at the chosen spot. 

“You have been quick! ” He glanced at her approv- 
ingly; at the neat coat and her burnished hair, with the 
deep blue veil, like an evening mist falling softly across 
it. Her bare fingers felt cool and soft as he helped her 
into the gondola, that boat which seems designed for 
love. A subtle triumph stirred in his heart. 

“Now,” he smiled. “Whither away?” 

“ I don’t care.” She shrugged her shoulders. “ I 
want to feel the breeze in my face blowing off the little 
cobwebs.” 

“ Good ! ” He gave a swift order. Giovanni smiled 
and bent to his oar. “ Isn’t this perfect? Look at the 
stars.” Doran stretched himself out at ease, his head 
luxuriously propped on a cushion. “ The Big Bear and 
the Little Bear and the whole merry menagerie ! ” 

She did not respond to this at once and his gaze 
shifted to her face. She was looking very pale to-night. 
There were violet shadows under her eyes which seemed 
to intensify their depths. Her shoulders drooped; her 
mouth was tragic. She seemed more Eastern than ever, 
he thought. 

“ What is it, child ? ” Instinctively his hand reached 
out and closed on hers. The firm clasp was comforting 
to the tired girl in her loneliness. 

“I wonder if you’d understand?” She drew a little 
fluttering sigh. “If you laughed at me” — she tried 
to smile — “ I think it would be the last straw 1 ” 

Doran’s face grew rather grave. 

“ Try me.” He whispered the words. “ I can see 
there’s something wrong to-night. Surely you know me 
well enough? I hate to see you looking sad.” 

She gave him a veiled grateful glance, then her heavy 
lids fell. Was it wise to confide in him? 

Yet how it would ease her troubled heart! 

“ Every one’s so hateful to me.” 

“ At the pension ? ” His eyes narrowed. So ^hat 
was it. The local gossips had unearthed a secret ^out 
the girl. He felt a little thrill of excitement. Was 
she going to tell him, at last? 

“ Yes.” She nodded her head slowly. “ Even Mr. 
'Phipps has changed.” 


150 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


** Phipps was always a weathercock/’ He dismissed 
him with a virile man’s disdain for a weaker brother. 
“ I don’t suppose you mind that much ? ” 

“ No. But there’s nobody else to speak to ! ” She 
gave a little half-hearted laugh. Mrs. Percival rules 
the place. You’ve met her, haven’t you? ” 

“ Once. She trotted out her daughters and then be- 
gan to discuss their shortcomings. They seemed to be 
great friends with Phipps, a sort of triangular flirtation. 
He’s a strong man, Phipps.” His mouth twisted. 
‘‘Prefers taking ’em on in a bunch ! ” 

“ He’s a wise one,” Isoel mocked. “ He always sides 
with those in power. Ever since Mrs. Brace left — ” 
She paused, aware of Doran’s surprise. “ Oh, didn’t 
you know? They went last week; were recalled hur- 
riedly to England. The son-in-law has had a stroke. 
He’s been half-paralysed for years. Poor dears, they 
were so upset ! I miss them dreadfully. She hated Mrs. 
Percival and had no scruple in showing it. It became 
a sort of battle between them as to who should be leader 
in the place. So now, of course, I’m being punished 
for siding with the rival party.” 

She thought she had managed it cleverly; for it was 
only a part of the truth. 

Doran gave her a keen glance. He saw farther than 
she guessed. An odd feeling of disappointment suc- 
ceeded his impulse of sympathy. Why couldn’t the girl 
be honest? He would have respected her far more. 

“ That’s rather rough on you,” he said. “ But aren’t 
there any of her friends left in the pension?” 

She hesitated. 

“Very few. A new lot came on Friday, but they 
seem to keep to themselves. Then there are all the old 
maids. I don’t think they approve of me ! ” 

“ Sour grapes.” Doran chuckled. “ Still, it must be 
rather dull. You’ll have to fall back upon the guide.” 
“ Apparently ! ” Her spirits were rising. 

“ He’s always at your service, you know.” He 
pressed the hand under his. She drew it away with the 
excuse of securing her fluttering veil. For the air grew 
keen as they came to the wide stretch of lagoon, beyond 
San Giorgio. 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


151 


She turned sideways and gazed back. 

“Look at Venice. Isn’t it fine?” 

Doran followed her lingering glance. Like a city 
carved in mother of pearl and set with jewels that 
caught the light, with its fantastic spires and domes, it 
rose, fragile, from the waters. In the clear moonlight 
it seemed to float, drawn by the stars and the night’s 
desire, a vision intangible as a dream, light as a puff 
of thistledown. 

“ A mirage on the desert’s edge,” he mused. “ Too 
beautiful to be real.” 

“ It’s like life,” said the girl. “ As one fancies it. 
Not as it is.” 

The wistful words appealed to him. He nodded his 
head rather gravely. 

“ Though I think we can shape life ourselves. If 
we’re strong enough,” he added grimly. 

“ How ? ” She questioned him like a child. 

“ Oh, I don’t know. By facing facts. Most of our 
troubles we make for ourselves by playing a game of 
pretence. That’s the fault of society. All show and 
nothing real. And then they wonder that pleasure’s 
hollow! They’re fed up, that’s the truth.” He smiled 
down at her serious face. “ You see. I’ve seen both 
sides of it. I’m well off now, as money goes, but I’ve 
known what it is to be bitterly poor and to feel at times 
ashamed of it. No, not quite that.” He was hunting 
for words to convey a more accurate impression. “ A 
boy suffers more than a man among his fellows. A 
leggy young colt, grown out of his shabby clothes, and 
self-conscious — that’s the rub ! ” He gave her an 
amused glance. 

But Isoel’s face warmed. 

“ I think it was splendid I I heard the story.” 

“ Phipps ? ” Doran looked annoyed. She regretted 
her unwise admission. “ Well, it doesn’t matter.” He 
laughed lightly, masking his sudden impatience. But 
what a gossip the fellow was I “ I don’t suppose he 
troubled to tell you the best part — about my father.” 
His voice softened suddenly. “ He was simply a splen- 
did chap. Not a bit the orthodox parent. A pal in 
every sense of the word. We lived like boys playing 
truant — the happiest days of my life. You know, I 


152 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


still keep on the house; I couldn’t bear to part with it. 
I live there when I’m in town. I should like to show it 
you some day.” 

A thrill of triumph shot through her. So he didn’t 
mean this to be a passing acquaintance, to end in Venice. 
She answered softly: 

“ I hope you will.” 

Doran ran on cheerfully: 

“ Not much of a place to look at, except for my 
father’s pictures. I’ve kept his studio just as it was. 
It’s a mere cottage, with one big room built out over the 
garden and a little workshop added on with a carpen- 
ter’s bench, my sanctum! I had a craze for inventing 
things. There’s nothing after all that beats the joy of 
saying: ‘I made it myself’!” A sudden thought 
struck him here and he followed it up carefully. “ Do 
women feel the same ? ” 

“ Of course. Though we haven’t an equal chance.” 

“ You have now,” he reminded her. “ This war has 
altered all that. And in detail women should go ahead. 
They’ve learnt the mastery of their fingers. Now, I, for 
instance could make a chair but I couldn’t turn out a 
lady’s dress.” 

“ I shouldn’t care to wear it,” she laughed. 

“Yet I don’t mind betting you could do it?” 

“ I made the coat I’m wearing to-night.” She had 
fallen into his little trap. 

“ Did you, by Jove ! I thought it was ‘ Paris.’ ” In 
his voice was a note of sympathy and his eyes watched 
her eagerly. “ If I were a girl and hard up I should go 
in for that sort of thing. Designing frocks or making 
them.” He dared not venture nearer the truth. 

Isoel stared ahead. A faint smile was on her lips. 

“ You’d soon get tired of it, I think.” 

Again he was disappointed. If his theory had been 
correct she would have seized the opening. He had made 
it very easy for her. His brows contracted at her 
evasion. 

She was ashamed of the old life. But why? A lady 
born and bred would not have been so sensitive over 
the manner of her employment. There was some mys- 
tery in her silence. Was there a lover behind the 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


153 

scenes ? He remembered Mrs. Serocold’s words. Of 
course they’re all run by men ! ” 

Meanwhile they had approached the landing-stage at 
the Lido. The gondola drew up. 

“ Here we are. Would you care to get out for a 
little stroll ? ” he suggested. 

She looked about her curiously. 

“Is it another island?” she asked. 

“ Yes, the El Dorado of bathers. A pity the weather 
isn’t yet quite warm enough for the water. It’s great 
fun in the summer. Will you come out and explore?” 
He wanted her, to himself, away from the gondolier. 

“If you like.” She was interested. 

“ Well, I promised you an adventure ! ” His man- 
ner had changed, less respectful, and he sp6ke with the 
old careless assurance. Now he looked more like the 
man who had dined with Tory Serocold. He sprang 
out and gave her a hand. 

“There! Now for the silver sands. Come along!” 
They started off. 

The gondolier watched them out of sight, then set- 
tled himself among the cushions, closing his eyes bliss- 
fully. He gave the pair an hour at least, no novice 
in these delicate matters! 

Talking lightly, they made their way, at a brisk pace 
along the shore, descending the gentle slope of sand 
that glistened in the bright moonlight. 

“ Look at the shells ! ” She ran forward and sank 
on her knees, hands outstretched. “ Why, there are 
thousands of them here! Just like the necklaces in 
Venice ! ” 

He stood over her, watching her, amused by her sim- 
ple pleasure. The veil had drifted back from her hair 
which was blown about her excited face. She looked 
like some happy innocent child, storing treasures in her 
lap. 

“Like them?” 

'' Je crois bien!'' As ever, when greatly stirred, she 
reverted to her native tongue. “ They’re made of real 
mother of pearl ! ” 

At last she paused from her exertions and stared out 
across the sea. 


154 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Isn’t it still? Not a sound! Even the ripples hold 
their breath. Those hills, now, are they capped with 
snow ? ” 

“ I don’t think so.” He sat down on the sand by her 
side. “ It’s a little too late in the season for that. It 
must be just a trick of the moon. The Euganean hills. 
I once explored them. But I think they’re lovelier at a 
distance. Like most women.’^ He added, smiling, “ But 
not all. That’s where you score ! ” 

“ I ? ” She raised her delicate brows. 

“ Yes, you. A mystery that grows deeper as one ap- 
proaches. Shall we play truant one of these days and go 
across to the mainland ? There’s a little town over there,” 
he pointed to the distant range, tucked away on a rocky 
shelf with a monastery perched above it. You would 
have to get up rather early and prepare for a long ex- 
pedition. I don’t know when we should get back ! ” 

“ It sounds too far,” she said wisely. “ Besides I’m 
quite contented with Venice.” 

She put up her hands and tidied her hair, then pinched 
each ear-ring to see it was safe. They reminded him 
of their first meeting in gloomy London, and he smiled. 

‘‘Well, then, Chioggia?” He wanted to feel he had 
got her away for a long day, without interruption. 

She was running the fine silvery sand through her 
fingers and suddenly she pounced on a larger shell and 
added it to the heap on her lap. 

“ What a child you are ! ” He was rather annoyed 
that she had not risen to his suggestion. “ What are 
you going to do with all those? You can’t transport 
the whole beach.” 

“ I wish I could,” she laughed back. “ And the sea and 
the hills, and the moonlight too.” 

“ You needn’t leave me out of it so conspicuously. It 
hurts my feelings.” He was sprawling now in the soft 
sand, his elbow driven into it, his face propped upon his 
hands within a few inches of her knee. 

“ Oh, you could find your way for yourself 1 ” 

“ Thanks 1 ^ 

“ Or, if you’re really anxious to help, you can lend a 
large handkerchief and I’ll carry my treasure home in 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


155 

it. With knotted corners, ever so chic ! It will look like 
a workman’s dinner ! ” 

She was very happy here to-night, too contented to 
act a part. She had never liked Doran better and she 
gave herself up to the charm of the hour. 

What will you give me in return ? ” 

“ The largest shell.” She held it out and placed it in 
his open hand. 

He closed his fingers, but too late. He had meant 
to hold more than the gift. She realized his intention 
and laughed with a teasing ring. 

“ You shouldn’t grab. It’s not polite. You should 
take it gently and say ‘ Thank you.’ ” 

“ Then give me another ? ” 

“No. One, For a good boy! Two for a girl. 
That’s chivalry ; they deserve more.” 

“ It’s too Gallic for my mind. All or nothing is my 
creed.” He smiled, with a twist of the lips. 

“ But you’re not very honest.” Her eyes danced. 
“ Where’s that mouchoir you promised me ? ” 

He felt for it in his coat pocket and drew out — a pair 
of gloves ! 

“ Hullo ! ” He stared at them. They were of pale 
grey snMe and a long end dangled down. 

Isoel stared too, then laughed. 

“ You take a very small size.” 

“Yes, don’t I?” He felt caught. For they were 
Tory Serocold’s. He tried to carry it off lightly. “ I 
remember now. Some friends of mine were dining with 
me the other night and they left these behind on the 
sofa. I meant to return them the next day.” 

Isoel was mischievous. 

“ Quite sure you didn’t win them ? ” 

The arrow flew straight to the mark. Doran could 
have shaken her. 

“No such luck I ” He laughed with an effort. For 
the spoils of war could not cover the loss, in more than 
money, of that night. He knew he had been neatly 
caught even as he wrote the cheque. 

Isoel idly fingered the gloves, aware of a mystery. 
She, too, felt slightly piqued. Here was a fair and un- 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


156 

known rival. A mischievous notion appealed to her. 

We could use them to carry the shells home. See — 
She fastened the pearl buttons and poured her treasures 
into one. “ Doesn’t it make a fine little sack ? ” 

Suddenly she bent her head. 

‘‘Why, they’re scented! How nice for the shells. 
Violets 1 No, something stronger. Smell ! ” She held 
out the novel bag. 

The perfume roused memories, and the poison of 
Tory’s insidious speech still rankled in Doran’s mind. 
The moonlight and the girl’s charm made his pulses beat 
faster. He leaned towards her dangerously near. And 
suddenly his control snapped. 

“Isoel — you little witch 1 ” His arms went round her, 
he drew her down. 

Instinctively she threw herself back, pushing him off 
with desperate hands. 

“No, No!” She struggled up, the shells scattering 
right and left. “How dare you?” She stamped her 
foot. ''Mon Dieu! I did not think it of you! ” There 
was no mistake about her anger. 

“ I’d dare a good deal more for a kiss ! ” He hardly 
knew what he was saying, in the heat of the moment. 

Her lip curled. She seemed to grow taller still in her 
injured pride. Then without another word she turned 
and began to ascend the slope, with a firm step, her head 
high. 

He watched her go with a stubborn anger. Regret 
was to follow later. Now the main idea in his mind was 
a sense of being cheated out of his rights. 

One of Clotilde’s mannequins — Heavens ! What did 
the girl expect? 

He raised himself slowly on one knee and something 
crushed beneath his weight. 

It was one of Tory’s gloves, half filled with the fragile 
shells. 

“Oh, damn!'* He spurned it aside and with the ac- 
tion his storm-cloud broke. He laughed. The thing 
looked so absurd; the fingers knobby and outspread, the 
limp arm of pale suede. And how furious she would be ! 

He hunted round for its fellow and thrust both into his 
pocket, then started in pursuit of the girl. 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


157 


She walked quickly. He noticed again her fine car- 
riage and rounded limbs. A wisp of gauze above her 
hair floated out on the breeze and it reminded him of 
a little figure, a Tanagra, which his dead father had 
prized. She had the same note of youth, of slender 
strength and unstudied grace. 

Exquisite but cold, he thought. Anyhow she was not 
“ that sort 1 Mrs. Serocold had been wrong. The 
mannequin without morals would not have repulsed him 
so roughly. Her surprise and virginal resistance had 
shown him, now that he considered it in a sober mood, 
that she was not accustomed to light treatment at men’s 
hands. A certain respect grew in his heart as he quick- 
ened his steps to catch her up. 

It would mean an apology, of course, and if she could 
not be appeased a distinctly unpleasant voyage home. 
For theirs was the only gondola. 

A bell pealed out from a campanile. Twelve o’clock? 
Good Lord ! He must smuggle the girl in somehow. He 
began to feel responsible. 

What a pace she was putting on ? He made a spurt and 
reached her side. 

Miss Dark? ” He spoke breathlessly. 

She made no response, head averted. 

He tried again and suddenly choked. Damn it alH 
He was going to cough. In vain he struggled with his 
foe. 

At the ominous sound Isoel paused. She tried to stifle 
the pitiful impulse invading her anger and wounded pride. 
Yet her face softened and she waited. 

The fit was of short duration but his voice was hoarse 
when he tried to use it. 

“ Please forgive me,” he gasped out. I can’t say — 

how sorry I am.” 

Something stirred in her cold young heart at the sight 
of his physical distress. 

“ That’s — all right.” Under her skin the blood rushed 
up to her little ears. The words had cost her mighty 
effort. 

Doran saw this and felt ashamed. 

“You’re awfully kind. I don’t deserve it. I’d no 
business — ” Pie stopped short. “ But I’ll swear it shall 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


ii58 


never happen again. If you won’t throw me over alto- 
gether.” 

Isoel smiled faintly. The roles were reversed with a 
vengeance. 

“ I think we ought to be getting back.” She changed 
the subject deliberately. 

“Yes. But will you shake hands first?” His eyes 
were wistful, his manner awkward. 

She complied, but a shade reluctantly. For a long mo- 
ment he studied her face, shy, yet proud and independent. 

“ She’s as straight as a die ! ” he said to himself. A 
strong feeling of relief followed the thought. By a par- 
adox he found himself gloating over the fact. Tory was 
wrong from first to last. Just like those society women ! 
Judged every one by themselves. Why, this girl could 
give Tory points, in every way. And as to morals! 

He almost whistled. Then pulled himself up. He was 
still sore from the encounter with that astute and provo- 
cative lady. He knew he had made a fool of himself. 
Thank God, it had gone no further ! She had no future 
claim on him. 

He glanced sideways at Isoel. She was walking along, 
lost in dreams. Where were her thoughts, the man won- 
dered. 

With the halo of gauze round her head, her pale face 
and serious eyes, she might have been, in that misty light, 
a young saint from a picture by Lippi. 

He felt a sharp stab of remorse. She was too good for 
a ^an like him ! He had taken advantage of her youth 
and the trust she reposed in him. 

For forgiveness, ungrudging and offered freely, holds 
in itself the germs of revenge, rarely apparent to the 
donor but restoring the lost spiritual balance. And Do- 
ran suffered in his turn. 

They found the gondolier at his post, a cigarette be- 
tween his lips, the cushions neat and all in order. 

Doran told him to row quickly, and refreshed by his 
stolen sleep he bent to with a vigour. 

In silence they listened to the ripple of water stirring 
under the bows, and watched the high silver prow cut its 
way through the night. The moon had been swallowed 
up by a cloud and the air felt cold in the semi-darkness. 


THE VISION SPLENDID 159 

Isoe! shivered and buttoned her coat. Doran had fresh 
misgivings. 

“ I shall blame myself if you get a chill. I wish you’d 
put my coat on too ? ” 

“ But I’m quite warm,” she reassured him. “ And you 
ought to be careful, with that cough.” 

“ Oh, it doesn’t matter what happens to me.” He was 
caught up by the Furies that follow so close on the heels 
of reckless man. The cold added to his depression. 

“ Of course it does. Think of your friends.” 

** Are you one ? ” He whispered the query. 

“ Yes. ^ Only — ” She shrugged her shoulders. 
‘‘You might have known.” 

“ I do, now.” A swift and sharp curiosity that was 
half a fear invaded his mind. “ Has no one — ? ” he 
dared, and left it at that. 

“No — never!'' Her pride was in arms, “ikfa foi! 
I was not brought up so. Besides, I vowed — ” She 
broke oif, seeing the pitfall under her feet. 

“ Yes? ” His voice was very gentle. “ Tell me? To 
show that I’m forgiven.” 

She seemed to consider for a moment. Then she took 
her courage in hand. 

“ Only, that I never would. Until — ” she faltered, 
“ the man.” 

“ The man you marry ? ” His face was grave. 

“ Yes. If I do.” She tried to laugh. 

“ He’ll be a lucky devil,” said Doran with a sudden 
bewildering pang of envy. 

A little silence fell upon them. Doran’s brain was 
forcing him into a swift analysis of the odd tumult in 
his heart. 

Why shouldn’t she marry? Most natural. And what 
had it to do with him? 

Feeling the salt nip of the wind he sheltered his hands 
in his pockets. “ And they’re out of mischief there,” he 
thought, “ and out of sight ! ” He remembered the scars. 

War. How far away it seemed ! It was funny how he 
had settled down these last weeks to this inaction which 
had seemed at first unbearable. 

The gondola swerved round. Doran had made a dis- 
covery. 


i6o 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Oh, here are your shells.” He drew out a mangled 
glove, gritty with sand. “ You’d better take them as they 
are. I shall have to present a new pair. I tore the fel- 
low one to this.” 

“ I’m not depriving you ? ” She laughed. 

Au contraire! ” He mimicked her. It was a pet ex- 
pression of hers. 

They slid under the last bridge. 

“Here we are! I’m afraid it’s late. You must let 
me see you safely in. You can’t turn up at this hour 
alone. Hullo I ” He peered, surprised, through the 
gloom. “ There’s another gondola at the door ! Luggage 
too — the night train. You’ll be able to slip in behind 
them.” 

“ Isn’t that lucky ? ” Isoel was feeling rather nervous 
herself. “ I thought I might have to ring up the porter.” 

She stepped out after him, drawing her veil about her 
face. 

A voice rose from behind the trunk : 

“ Now then, mind how you go I Once you’re safely in 
the house, I’ll see to all the baggage.” 

“ But, Judy dear,” came a faint bleat. 

Isoel gripped Doran’s arm. 

“ It’s Miss Dalgleish.” Her face whitened, 

“Good Lord! D’you know her?” He surged for- 
ward impetuously. “ Hullo, Judy ! Who’d have thought 
it?” 

She gasped and gripped his outstretched hand. 

Francis!” By all that’s holy! Rising like Venus 
from the foam ! ” 

“ Steady on ! ” Doran chuckled. “ You’ll shock Miss 
Dark.” 

Judy stared. 

“ Why, so it is ! Glad to meet you. Still here, at the 
Cats’ Home?” 

“ Jolly good name for it.” Doran laughed. “ They’ve 
been scratching hard. But Judy will tackle ’em!” He 
slapped her upon the back. “ Good old Judy ! Going 
strong ? ” 

It was a most indecorous scene. 

“ Rotten ! ” Judy heaved a sigh from the depths of her 
flat waistcoated chest. “ Bella developed influenza and 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


i6i 


there we were, stuck at Verona, in a stuffy hole that 
breathed of garlic. What have you two been up to 
to-night ? 

She looked at them with twinkling eyes. 

“ Nothing very dangerous.” Doran replied rather 
quickly. “ A concert party round the corner. I was es- 
corting Miss Dark home and wondering how we should 
break in. The pussy-cats go to bed early. You might 
take her under your wing and save her damaged repu- 
tation ? ” 

“ Righto ! ” Judy winked. “ Now, be off. I must 
see to the luggage or Beppo’ll want more macaroni ! And 
where’s Bella ? In the canal ? ” 

“ I’m here, dear,” said a voice in the doorway. 

Judy stumped across the pavement with a parting 
shout. 

“ What’s your address ? Come and look me up to- 
morrow. I won’t ask you to a meal until I see how they 
can cook.” 

“ I will. I’m at Danieli’s.” He turned, still laughing, 
to Isoel and lowered his voice. “ Mad as ever ! But a 
dear. I’ve known her all my life. Now you’ll have 
some one decent to talk to ! I’m so glad. She’ll stand by 
you. I think I’d better be moving along.” He smiled 
down into her face. “You’re all right?” She nodded 
her head. “ Then good night — IsoH.” 

“ Good night, Mr. Doran.” 

“ Ah, no.” 

She understood. Although for nearly a week now he 
had called her by her Christian name, she had never yet 
used his, shy in her inexperience. 

“ Francis,” she supplemented. 

His face changed. He murmured something, too low 
for her to catch. Then abruptly he turned round and 
stepped into the gondola. 


CHAPTER XV 


a TJDY dear, may I come in? ” Bella tapped at her 
I sister’s door. “ Not to disturb you, if you’re busy, 

^ but there’s something I want to say to you.” She 
appeared, plaintive, on the threshold, and cast a nervous 
eye at the windows which were both of them wide open. 
“ Dear me, what a draught ! ” 

Judy rose from her writing-table and closed the one 
near the arm-chair. 

“ What is it? You’re not ill?” Despite her brusque 
“ manly ” ways she was really attached to her sister, and 
she gave the latter an anxious glance before she removed 
her monocle. 

“ No. Though I have a touch of neuralgia. I shall 
take two tabloids of aspirin.” Bella accepted the prof- 
fered seat and smiled fondly as Judy dragged a pillow off 
her own bed and tucked it behind the sufferer’s back. 

“ There, old chap, is that better ? ” 

“ Thank you, dear. You’re very thoughtful.” She set- 
tled herself comfortably ; like a series of little waves, her 
double chin the last ripple. She had a way of lying back 
which secretly annoyed Judy who, well-drilled and ener- 
getic, rarely gave way to lounging habits. 

“ Something wrong with her backbone. Curves out in- 
stead of in,” was her thought at the present moment. 
“ Or she wears her stays wrong side about.” 

Bella was gazing into space, with a vacant look in her 
pale blue eyes. Half her waking hours were spent in a 
species of mental coma. 

“ Well? ” Judy’s voice was sharp. 

“ Oh ! ” Her sister gave a start. “ Dear me, what was 
it? Oh, yes, I know. About Miss Dark. I came to 
give you a little hint. If I were you, Judy dear, I 
shouldn’t get too intimate.” 

“ It’s not a habit of mine,” said the other. “ I’m hardly 
given to gushing, eh ? ” She laughed, throwing her shoul- 
ders back^, her hands deep in her big pockets. 

162 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


163 


No, dear, I shouldn’t say so.” Bella spoke absently. 
Then she roused herself again. “ What I really meant to 
express, though I put it rather stupidly, was that one must 
be a little careful.” 

” What on earth are you driving at?” Judy scowled, 
plainly impatient. She stood now in front of her sister, 
staring at her with the hopeless intention of bringing her 
quickly to the point. “Out with it! What’s wrong?” 

Bella rubbed the plump fingers of her left hand with 
her right and straightened a worn mourning ring before 
she took up the challenge. 

“ Well, a little bird told me — ” 

Her sister gave a scornful laugh like the bark of an irri- 
tated terrier. 

“ I’m not an ornithologist ! I don’t understand bird- 
language.” 

The elder Miss Dalgleish tittered. 

“ How funny you are ! ” She smoothed a piece of 
crumpled frilling round her wrist. “ I hardly like to men- 
tion names, but it was Miss Percival.” 

Judy nodded. 

“ Go on.” 

“ She told me, in strict confidence — ” Bella’s voice 
was mysterious — “ that Miss Dark was not what she 
seems/' 

“ H’m. The usual formula. Occult and lacking in 
common grammar.” Judy relinquished hypnotic methods 
and perched herself on the edge of the table. “ She’s too 
pretty, I suppose ? ” A malicious twinkle was in her eyes. 

“Yes — no, what do you mean? It’s her people. 
They’re rather impossible.” Bella fidgeted with her 
brooch. 

It was pinned crookedly, as usual. Whatever she wore 
held the same impression of nervous haste, from her 
scanty hair, shedding its “ invisible ” pins, to the hem of 
her skirt which was generally turned up at the back where 
it drooped. 

To Judy, scrupulously neat, these lapses were a per- 
petual eyesore. 

“ You’ve got a hairpin falling out. Just behind your 
left ear. No, that’s another. They hunt in couples. Got 
him ! ” She gave a sigh of relief. Then she returned to 


164 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


the old subject. “I don’t see that her people matter. 
They aren’t here, and I like the girl. She’s quite clever 
and amusing and knows how to put on her clothes.” 

“ But nobody speaks to her,” said Bella. I noticed 
that when we first came.” 

“ Your ‘ little bird’s ’ fault, perhaps? How I hate this 
infernal gossip ! ” 

“ I wish you wouldn’t use such words.” Bella shook 
like a tired jelly. She was roused to virtuous indignation. 
She added in a pleading voice, ‘‘ Fm quite sure you get 
misjudged in consequence. I’ve noticed it. So do try^ 
Judy dear. It’s really not ladylike.” 

“What a goose you are! Look at me. Could I be 
‘ladylike’?” 

Judy slid down off the table and stood squarely before 
her judge. This spring-like morning she had donned a 
waistcoat of pale canary and a starched shirt with a high 
collar, gripped by a neat black tie. Her coat of “ heather- 
mixture ” tweed fell loosely from her shoulders and be- 
neath it appeared a narrow skirt that just covered the 
tops of her boots. 

Bella’s watery blue eyes ran over her hopelessly. 

“ It’s difficult,” she admitted. 

The other accepted it as a compliment. 

“Glad you agree with me for once! Now, if you’re 
quite happy there, I’m going out to buy some stamps.” 

She picked up her Homburg hat and dragged it over her 
crisp hair, cut short like a man’s, but thick and inclined to 
wave. It was iron grey, white at the temples and almost 
black on the crown of her head, and it gave to her clean- 
cut powerful face a certain aristocratic touch. 

She turned for a parting glance at the mirror and tilted 
the felt a shade to one side, shot out her cuffs and, satis- 
fied, seized her walking-stick and gloves. 

“ But about Miss Dark,” said Bella feebly. 

“ You leave her to me. I don’t expect she’ll lure me 
from the paths of virtue. I’m not a chicken ! ” Judy was 
off with a grin that showed strong white teeth. 

^ Bella, as the door slammed, closed her eyes with a little 
sigh. It bespoke a duty faced and accomplished, always 
a strain to her weak nerves. In her heart she admired 
her younger sister who chaffed and bullied her when she 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


i6S 

was well but nursed her devotedly when ill. She leaned 
on the strong personality of this woman who seemed half 
a man and saved her from thinking of ways and means, 
that problem of the old maid. 

‘‘ I think I will take a little nap.” She sank still lower 
in the chair. But her thoughts flew back to Isoel Dark 
with provoking lucidity. “ A pretty girl. It seems a 
pity. Still one has to be careful in these places, as Miss 
Percival pointed out. I think it was very kind of her.” 

Meanwhile Judy was following a totally different line 
of thought. She had noticed herself how every one gave 
the girl the cold shoulder. But, accustomed to a wander- 
ing life, she knew on how frail a thread depended popular- 
ity in the narrow circle of a pension. 

Although she professed to despise her sex — above all, 
the “ womanly woman,” self-centred and suspicious of 
every one's virtue but her own — she was staunch where 
she made a friend. Isoel had appealed to her after their 
first passage of arms by the frank way she had responded 
to Judy’s casual overtures. Nothing narrow-minded 
there ! A shade artificial perhaps, but then a girl as pretty 
as that could be pardoned a few airs and graces. And she 
was shrewd enough to detect beneath the little mannerisms 
a nervousness which appealed to her, ever a champion of 
the weak. 

Weak, that is, not in character, but in contrast to those 
in power. Doran’s hint had not been wasted. The girl 
needed a protector. 

For IsoH’s confidence that night had been more than 
justified by facts. Even Mrs. Fortescue treated her lat- 
terly with reserve. She learned to dread the long meals, 
aware of her subtle isolation, always harder to bear in a 
crowd, and the evenings in the stuffy salone where she sat 
alone, over her sewing, and felt curious, smiling glances 
levied at her from the groups around. 

If ever she joined one of these it seemed to dissolve 
and re-form later on the other side of the room. The 
Percivals were insolent, openly, on all occasions. They 
had won back Phipps to his allegiance. For this young 
man swam with the tide and Isoel was too proud to in- 
dulge in scraps of flirtation on the sly. 

She guessed full well how matters stood and despised 


i66 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


the smiling satellite. Phipps was very fond of his money. 
He had no objection to play the part of cavalier to the 
sleek matron in return for many a gondola ride paid for 
out of that lady's purse. Mrs. Percival understood that 
at her age a trim young man expected a certain remunera- 
tion in return for his “ devotion " ! 

Occasionally, with an air of pride, Phipps would appear 
with a bunch of flowers or basket of fruit and lay them 
down tenderly at his charmer’s feet. But he fought shy 
of Rosamund since the night when Doran had called. Be- 
hind his cherubic countenance he held a shrewd store of 
caution. He was friendly to both daughters, teased and 
flirted with them in public but avoided the chance of a 
tHe-a-tete with the stormy young person he once had 
admired. 

And Rosamund by some inverted reasoning, blamed 
Isoel as the cause of this change in his attitude. Before 
she came all had been well ! 

Altogether the situation had been one of strain for the 
lonely girl. She dared not approach new-comers and 
her courage sank day by day. 

With the advent of Judy Dalgleish she had felt that her 
cup of sorrow was full. Why had she told that futile lie 
concerning Lady Manister? 

She had been careful to avoid Christabel Price and her 
aunt, Mrs. Reece, on her arrival ; an easy matter since the 
pair had removed, shortly after, to a furnished studio lent 
by a friend. 

But with Judy and her sheep-like sister it was a totally 
different affair. IsoH lived on the brink of disaster, 
within sight of her secret goal. Strangely enough the im- 
minent peril roused in her the gambler’s spirit. She 
staked anew on one wild throw. To subjugate and cap- 
ture Doran. 

The name held for her not love but security. Al- 
though, in the scene at the Lido, she had obeyed her in- 
stincts alone, she had done wisely and she knew it. He 
treated her now with marked respect. 

Judy, too, became a refuge. Her breezy manner and 
the ring of her deep and mannish voice — above all, her 
friendliness — proved a tonic to the girl, wounded by 
petty, feminine spite. She realized that Judy saw how 


THE VISION 'SPLENDID 167 

completely ostracized she was yet refused to join the 
majority, true to her creed of “ fair play/’ 

For Isoel had not guessed that a part of her secret lay 
bare, nor the real nature of the gossip that played about 
her insidiously. She put down her lack of success to her 
lonely state and scanty knowledge of the ways of the 
world and to Rosamund’s jealousy of her lover. 

This morning she had slipped away to the picture gal- 
lery close by in order to write her first impressions of 
those works of art to Sir Abel Groot, unaware that dur- 
ing her absence Judy was fighting on her side a battle with 
the Percivals — those “ little birds ” marked down to her 
gun ! 

That staunch champion had been delayed by Miss Flin- 
ders in the passage. 

“ I hope you’ll forgive me. Miss Dalgleish.” The sec- 
retary pursed up her lips. “ But Giuseppe came to me 
this morning and mentioned he’d had three pairs of boots 
to clean for you yesterday.” 

“Well?” Judy stood there, grim. “Isn’t it a part 
of his duties?” 

Miss Flinders bridled at this. 

“ Certainly. In moderation.” 

Judy was not in the mood to be lectured. 

“ Perhaps he didn’t ‘ mention ’ the fact that I gave him 
a tip for his pains ? I don’t expect servants to work with- 
out proper remuneration.” 

“ Oh, he didn’t really complain,” Miss Flinders col- 
oured. “ It was Miss East. Her shoes were left.” She 
added sourly. “ I suppose because he was cleaning 
yours.” 

“ I don’t see that it concerns me. I’ve nothing to do 
with the management. If there’s a rule about the boots I 
shall stick to it. That’s understood. Or if you like to 
make it an extra — ‘ in moderation ’ — I will pay it. Is 
that all?”^ 

Miss Flinders collapsed. 

“ Yes, Miss Dalgleish, I think so. Quite.” 

“A wooden-headed Lowlander!” Judy muttered be- 
neath her breath, with the contempt that centuries of con- 
flict between the North and South of Scotland have bred 
in the stalwart race boasting the Highland blood in its 


i68 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


veins. YouVe only got to rattle your purse, and down 
they go on their shin-bones. Expects me to wear dirty 
boots for the privilege of staying here ! How I abominate 
these places! But Verona reduced the exchequer, with 
meals upstairs and doctor’s bills, though I wouldn’t let 
Bella guess for worlds.” 

She stumped on noisily. As she passed the salone door 
she saw that Rosamund stood by the window, the only 
occupant of the room. It reminded her of Bella’s chatter. 
Why not sift that matter now ? In she went with a cheer- 
ful : 

“ Good morning I You all alone ? ” 

The girl turned. 

Oh, Miss Dalgleish ! ” She advanced, smiling. 
“ How are you ? ” 

“ Fit as a fiddle ! Your mother out? ” 

“ Yes.” Rosamund added slyly, “ With Mr. Phipps in 
a gondola.” ^ 

“And your sister playing gooseberry?” Judy gave a 
little chuckle. Her shrewd eyes saw everything. She 
flung herself into an arm-chair, stretched out her legs and 
surveyed her boots. “ I should think she’d get sick of 
that.” 

Rosamund gave her a quick glance. Was this sym- 
pathy or chaff ? She decided that it was the former and 
welcomed it in her present mood. 

“ Oh, she doesn’t complain. It’s ‘ copy,’ you see.” 
She drew up a little stool and settled down to a gossip. 
“ I don’t mind telling you. Miss Dalgleish, as I know you 
will keep it to yourself, that Celia is writing a book, and 
she’s putting Mamma into it. It’s going to be called ‘ Our 
Modern Mothers.’ It’s awfully clever, though somewhat 
daring. We think it will make a stir in Worcester 1 ” 
She gave a cynical little laugh. 

^ Judy, amused but a shade disgusted at the young girl’s 
disloyalty, wisely disguised the fact. 

“Make ’em sit up, what?” She grinned. “Your 
mother’s a jolly good-looking woman. I suppose she likes 
to feel her power before it’s too late : the dangerous age 1 ” 

Rosamund’s guard was broken down. 

“ I call it disgusting ! ” she said hotly. “ All these boys 
at her heels 1 If she wants to marry, why can’t she choose 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


169 


some elderly man and stick to him? Nobody would talk 
then. But Phipps! He might be her son. She makes 
a laughing-stock of herself and it’s not very nice for Celia 
and me. ^ Besides I’m vexed about my sister. There was 
a charming boy at Florence who was really quite keen on 
her until Mamma chipped in and pointed out that she was 
so ‘lonely’ as both her daughters neglected her and that 
Cdia had a shocking temper 1 Enough to put any man 

Her hands were clasped round her knees, she rocked 
herself on the low stool, her passionate eyes surveying 
Judy, who nodded her head from time to time. 

“ It’s all coming out in the book. Celia reads it to me 
in bed. Of course we make the mother dark, but every 
one will see through it.” 

“ Is it your sister’s first effort? ” 

“ Yes, but it will go like wildfire ! Not many novels are 
real life. Only, of course, it keeps her busy and so it’s 
rather dull for me.” 

“ Yes.” Judy saw her chance. “ There are very few 
young people here. Why don’t you pal up with Miss 
Dark ? ” 

That girl? No, thank you.” Rosamund’s full and 
vivid mouth closed with a snap. 

Judy whistled. 

“ Anything wrong with her ? ” she asked. “ Seemed 
a good sort to me.” 

“ I noticed you were rather friendly.” This naive ad- 
mission tickled the listener. “ And I wondered — I sup- 
pose you don’t know all about her ? ” 

“ Can’t say I do.” Judy waited. 

Out it came : 

“ She’s not what she seems. She boasted to Mrs. For- 
tescue about her father, in the Navy. And Mrs. Fortes- 
cue told Mamma and Mamma told me. I was writing 
that afternoon to Uncle Roger, Papa’s brother. He’s an 
Admiral, retired now, but a regular walking Navy list, 
knows every one by name. So I thought I’d make a few 
inquiries. It seems that he’d met this Captain Dark. He 
came from a good family but was a notorious black sheep. 
Drank like a fish ! Gambled too, and got turned out of 
the Service. Uncle Roger didn’t know what had become 


170 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


of him since then but he’d heard some rather funny stor- 
ies. And he didn’t think he ever married. I believe he 
turned up at his home somewhere in the West of Eng- 
land, a bachelor still, and then disappeared utterly. I 
should think they were thankful! 

But who is this girl who uses his name ? Either she 
has no right to it or else — ” She shrugged her fine 
shoulders. 

Or else what ? ” said Judy calmly. She drew out her 
cigarettes and lit one absently. 

Oh, well — ” Rosamund giggled. ‘‘ Perhaps she’s 
what one might call a foundling! The worst of it was,” 
she confided, “ I only got Uncle Roger’s letter the day 
after the Braces left. Oh, of course, you didn’t know 
them. A stuffy old Colonel and his wife who thought an 
awful lot of themselves and took the girl under their wing. 
It would have been a lark to tell them 1 ” 

Judy waited for a moment and blew out a perfect ring 
of smoke. 

“ I see. And you condemn the girl for having had a 
bad father? Hardly sportsman-like to me.” 

Rosamund stared. The unlooked-for remark had been 
like a cold sponge thrown in her face. 

“But one must — ” she stammered. “After all — ” 

Judy interrupted swiftly. 

“‘The sins of the fathers’?” She slapped her knee. 
“Damned unfair, I’ve always thought it! One doesn’t 
choose one’s own relations. Otherwise one might do bet- 
ter. Though there’d be a lot knocking about unclaimed 
if that were the rule. ‘ Foundlings ! ’ ” She gave a bark 
that was intended for laughter. “ But about Miss Dark. 
You turn her down for having a ‘ dip ’ in the family and 
for mentioning him in conversation. Has it ever occur- 
red to your simple mind that she might not know the 
whole truth? She told me herself she was an orphan. 
Pie might have died when she was a baby.” 

“ I don’t see that it alters the case.” Rosamund spoke 
very stiffly. 

“ No, you wouldn’t.” Judy grunted. She studied the 
flushed, disgusted face. “ And how would you like it if 
some kind friend raked up your father’s past? Some 
doubtful adventure of his youth? ” 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


171 

Really! " The girl sprang to her feet. ‘‘ I think you 
are going a little too far. To suggest such a thing ! Her 
head went up proudly on her full throat. “ My father 
was a Canon of Worcester.^^ 

A silence followed this explanation. She broke it by 
adding : 

“ And he’s dead.” 

So is Miss Dark’s,” Judy countered. She leaned for- 
ward and tapped the end of her cigarette against the fen- 
der to shake off the superfluous ash. Then she glanced 
at the tall figure lingering there, unwilling to leave the 
field of battle with lowered crest. “ And is that all ? ” she 
asked sweetly. 

All ? I should say it was enough.” Rosamund 
sneered and moved off. “ Miss Dark should be proud of 
such a champion ! ” Her manner was openly insolent. 

‘‘Well,” said Judy easily, “I must say I admire her 
more than if she ran down her own mother. Shows grit, 
to my mind, to stick to your people, however unpleasant.” 

“ I suppose she’s glad to own any ! ” 

Judy’s face changed quickly. A glint came into her 
brown eyes. She pitched the end of her cigarette into the 
grate and sat bolt upright. 

“ Wait a minute ! ” she rapped out. “ There’s some- 
thing you’ve overlooked. You’re such a capable young 
woman that it rather surprises me.” 

Rosamund glanced back. 

“ Well ? ” She stood, a hand on the door. 

“ I think you’d better keep that closed. For your own 
sake,” Judy suggested. She added, with a grim chuckle, 
“ Other ‘ little birds ’ about,” and without explaining that 
cryptic phrase went on with an eye on her victim, “ Per- 
haps you’ve forgotten there’s such a thing as libel in our 
English law ? ” 

Rosamund gave an angry gasp. 

“ But I told you in confidence.” 

“ Confidence be blowed ! ” said Judy. “ Besides I 
shouldn’t have secrets with you. In some ways I’m par- 
ticular.” 

She smiled broadly. Rosamund choked. 

Judy took up her sermon again : 

“ If Miss Dark heard this stor>', she could make it very 


172 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


unpleasant for you. You seem to have taken it for 
granted that we met here for the first time.. That’s an- 
other little error. It may surprise you to hear that this 
girl whom you charge with being illegitimate has some 
rather powerful connections. No, I’m not going to tell 
you the name for you to send to ‘ Uncle Roger ’ ! But if 
they chose to take up the case not all the Canons in 
Worcester could save you! ” 

“ I think you’re disgusting!” Rosamund cried. 

She was fumbling at the knob of the door. But Judy 
saw that she was frightened and followed up her advan- 
tage : 

“ You see, I’m not the only one you’ve honoured with 
your confidence, and you’d find if the whole thing came 
out that people would turn on you at once as their in- 
formant — the way of the world ! People will listen to 
any gossip but they’re very careful to point out that it 
didn’t originate with themselves. It’s simply the law of 
preservation.” She had got now into her stride and her 
temper was cooling down. “ So the best thing that you 
can do is to say that you were misinformed. Even 
admirals can make mistakes. I know, because my father 
was one.” 

The girl gave her a swift glance of surprise and intense 
mortification. Tears stood in the hot brown eyes. Judy 
suddenly felt a brute. She became more brusque and 
slangy than ever. 

“ Yes. You’d like to punch my head ? Not sure I 
don’t deserve it 1 But I’m damned sorry for IsoH Dark. 
You’ve made her life a perfect hell. And I like fair play. 
Always have ! But I think you’re a bit of a sport your- 
self and when you’ve considered it quietly you’ll see 
you’ve made a bad break. I don’t ask you to be friends 
but just to be civil to the girl and to keep a still tongue in 
your head. You’ll find it pays in the end.” She stood 
up, smiling now. I’m sorry to speak so straight to you, 
as I daresay it hurts your feelings. But I like Miss Dark 
and I won’t stand by and watch her hounded out of the 
place. I shall say nothing more about it if you’ll take the 
whole matter in hand — you’re clever enough to see it 
through. That’s a bargain, between ourselves.” She 
paused for a moment, and squared her shoulders as 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


173 


though she had eased them of a burden. “ I suppose ” — 
her mouth took a humorous curve — “ you’d consider it a 
gross insult if I asked you to shake hands upon it?” 

For a moment, Rosamund hesitated. Something about 
this masculine creature -with her clean-cut jolly face, now 
illumined with a smile, infectious and plainly friendly, 
appealed to the girl’s stubborn heart. 

Then the nobler impulse passed. She remembered 
the stinging reprimand and yielded to her inherent malice. 

“ 1 may be ‘ particular ’ too ! ” 

Judy stared at her, then laughed. Rosamund, scarlet 
now, flung out and slammed the door. For in the laugh 
was no trace of anger, merely amusement, that fleeting 
surprise one sees in the face of a Great Dane when a toy 
terrier snaps at him. 

Miss Dalgleish, left alone, suddenly recalled the fact 
that smoking was against the rules. She hunted for the 
betraying end of her cigarette and disposed of it by a 
neat shot at the canal through the single open window. 

Then she threw the others wide and as the fresh air 
poured in she drew a deep satisfied breath. 

“ That’s what they need,” she decided. ‘‘ Body and 
soul. A stuffy lot ! ” 


CHAPTER XVI 


} SOEL sat at a little table in her bedroom window, an- 
swering letters. 

She was finishing one to Sir Abel Groot, princi- 
pally concerning pictures, although she had drawn a play- 
ful sketch of her new friend, Judy Dalgleish. 

I’ve been to the Accademia,” [she wrote in her fine French 
hand, faithful to the pointed nibs beloved in her mother’s coun- 
try]. ^‘You ask me about the Bellinis and which appeals to me 
the most. My favourite one is the lovely Madonna with little 
tree on either side. The Holy Child has such wonderful eyes; 
you can feel His greatness even then. But I don’t care for the 
other you mention. (You asked me to say just how I felt.) I 
mean the Virgin with folded hands and the little Jesus fast asleep. 
He doesn’t look safe; at any minute He might slip off the edge 
of her lap and I think a real mother would hold Him. But the 
clouds and the light behind are lovely! 

“Of course one doesn’t expect to like religious pictures so 
much as others, those that tell some sort of story. I still like 
Carpaccio’s best. All the quaint little people, ever so busy, just 
like a play. I found another of his dogs in a painting with a 
wonderful bridge, and three together later on but, although I 
hunted everywhere, no more Basilisks!^ Were there really such 
creatures? Oh, and I do love the babies in a picture (I don’t 
know the name) of a beautiful girl in a boat with a big globe 
held on her knee. One is blowing a tiny trumpet! I don’t 
think it can be a sacred subject? ” 

This sidelight on the well-known Venus, Ruler of the 
World gave Sir Abel rare amusement when the girl’s 
letter reached him. 

“ I’m having a perfectly lovely time. I can never thank you 
sufficiently.” 

She paused, her pen in the air, and referred to Sir 
Abel’s brief epistle. 

“You needn’t chaff me about Mr. Phipps. I don’t care for 
him a bit! What is he doing, idling in Venice? He ought to be 
fighting at the Front.” 

Here inspiration failed her and, with a flourish, she 
signed her name and blotted the page carefully. 

“That’s over! Hope he’ll be pleased.” Then she 
turned to a scrawl from Patty — “ in great haste just going 

174 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


175 

out — ” to say that she had met Anna who had asked for 
IsoH’s address. 

She seemed very nice and friendly,” [Patty v/rote in her 
Sprawling hand]. “Said she had some news of you, but I wasn’t 
sure you wanted Clotilde to know exactly where you were. So 
I told her to send it care of Cook’s. Wasn’t that cute of your 
old pal? You’ll find me smart when you return. I picked up a 
remnant cheap last week and Mrs. Brown on the third floor is 
making it into a spring dress. It’s khaki-colour — all the rage! 
And she’s trimming it with violet ribbon.” 

“ Oh, Patty 1 ” Isoel groaned. “ I can picture it with 
your red hair.” 

The letter held a triumphant postcript. 

“ Bert has given me a bracelet. I really think he means busi- 
ness I ” 

Isoel smiled at this typical ending. Poor old Patty! 
She fully deserved a good husband and home of her own. 

And she wouldn’t be too particular. The “second- 
best ” — she recalled the speech and felt an odd pang of 
envy succeeded by a little shudder. 

Never 1 Better by far go down into the gulf of middle- 
age, unloved and unsought, than lower her standard, blot- 
ting out that fugitive dream of the “ best in life.” 

She stared through the low window, set deeply in the 
walls and shaken now by a gust of rain. 

For a storm had swept across the banks of sand that 
shelter the “ bride of the sea ” and Venice was wrapped 
in a drifting mist like an Eastern beauty beneath her veil. 

A tap at the door made her start. 

“ Come in.” 

Judy stood on the threshold dripping wet with a cheer- 
ful face down which a little rivulet trickled from the limp 
brim of her hat. 

“ Can’t ! ” she laughed. “ You’d be swimming next ! 
And Miss Flinders would haul me up for ruining her pol- 
ished floor. Turn over one of those gaudy mats and 
heave it across. I’ll stand on that.” 

IsoH, amused, obeyed. Once safe on the little island 
Judy gave herself a shake like a retriever after a plunge. 

“ It’s heavenly out,” she announced. “ No one about 
and plenty of space. I tramped to the Public Gardens 
and on the way home I saw Doran gazing sadly out of his 


window so I ran in and cheered him up. It must be gall- 
ing for a man who’s lived as he has to have to coddle! 
But he’s keen on getting back to the Front and this makes 
him obey orders. Now I’ll tell you what I suggested. 
That you and I should go round to tea. He’s sending us 
his gondola at four on the chance. Are you on ? ” 

She drew out a handkerchief, a vast bandanna, from 
her cuff and rubbed her face vigorously. It’ll just give 
rne time to change.” 

“ I should love to.” IsoH brightened. “ It’s dull stay- 
ing indoors all day and Fran — Mr. Doran must hate it.” 

Why not say Francis at once? ” Judy gave her jolly 
laugh. “Think it will shock me? Not much! I’ve 
known him since he was a schoolboy — wore Eton suits 
and revelled in buns ! We lived not very far from them. 
My father was a pal of his, and many a jolly Sunday night 
we’ve spent in that old studio.” 

“ Did you know his mother? ” Isoel asked. 

“ No fear ! ” Judy snorted. She wheeled round. “ I 
must go to Bella. She’s having an afternoon in bed and 
feeling about her for stray pains. I think she’s rather 
disappointed that she hasn’t got a temperature. The 
chance of ‘ fever ’ in Italy is a perpetual excitement to her. 
All the same,” — she checked her mirth, “ she’s not a bit 
strong, really. Ever since a nasty knock she had as a 
girl. I don’t remember if I told you. The man she loved 
killed himself. They’d been engaged just a year.” 

“ No.” IsoH gave a shudder. “ How terrible ! Pur- 
posely ? ” 

“ Afraid so. He was deep in debt. He shot himself 
in the train on the way to join his regiment after a last 
futile attempt to raise the money up in town. I’ll never 
forget how good old Doran — the painter, I mean — was 
to her. She simply lived in his studio and it must have 
been a drag on his work as Bella’s ideas on Art are 
rotten! She used to sit at his elbow watching him — and 
offering advice ! He painted a portrait for her later from 
a photograph of poor old Cecil and gave it to her. I 
really believe it helped her to pull through. He wouldn’t 
take a penny for it and they were cruelly poor then. He 
was a splendid old chap, awfully handsome, as tall as 
Francis with a head like a lion and the heart of a child — 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


177 


up to the day of his death. How that beast, Lady Caro- 
line, could have treated him in the way she did is utterly 
incomprehensible! Yet he never would hear a word 
against her. 1 hat’s love, if you like! I suppose it 
made him sorry for Bella. For she worshipped the 
ground that Cecil trod on. A great mistake.” Judy 
frowned, then glanced sideways at Isoel. “ It’s a warn- 
ing!, Never fall so deeply in love that you can’t keep 
your head above water.” 

With this involved metaphor, she stumped out and 
banged the door. 

Isoel remained standing by the inverted mat which 
showed traces of muddy boots. She was pondering on 
the last words. 

“ It’s not likely,” she said to herself. “ Sometimes I 
wish I could ! ” 

For she knew that she did not love Doran. She liked 
him and felt thrilled by his gallantry at the Front and the 
long loyalty to his father. He was the object of her am- 
bition but he had not succeeded in touching her heart. 
And at times a chill dread seized her. She would have 
to live long years with him, a wife, in all that it implied, 
and the gift of her body without her soul frightened and 
bewildered her. 

Then the memory of her vow in the quiet chapel at St. 
Mark’s tinged the fact with that fervid romance which 
stood to her for religion. In the light of her promise to 
the Virgin she felt that strange conventual charm which 

sacrifice ” brings to natures as deeply feminine as hers, 
reared in the mystical atmosphere of the Roman Catholic 
Church. She had never probed beneath its surface for 
the strength and purpose of religion. She breathed in 
the fragrant incense but saw no further than the symbol. 

Now, as she moved about the room, brushing the trim 
little hat, hunting for gloves and handkerchief, her spirits 
rose. Life was sweet ! And again the spell of ambition 
claimed her exultantly. 

She knew that the man’s attitude had changed. At 
times it perplexed her. His silences when they were 
alone, his scrupulous care to avoid her touch, the way his 
eyes dwelt on her and turned aside when she glanced up, 
his wistful anxiety to please her. 


178 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Was this love? Isoel wondered. 

In her serene inexperience she had not realized that a 
man rarely flirts when he is in earnest and is seldom seen 
at his best. 

For Doran was hard hit. He knew it and resented it. 
Yet he could not keep away from her. His brain and his 
heart were at loggerheads. It was the first time in his life 
that passion had been subordinated to a nobler feeling, 
akin to respect. 

He was torn asunder between the knowledge that hei^e 
was no fit wife for him by the recognized standards of his 
class and a reckless desire to know the worst — and marry 
her in the teeth of it ! 

If only she would confide in him. Prove that her char- 
acter was sound — albeit reserved — he could forgive her 
lowly status and lack of social experience. It was this 
playing with the truth that cautioned him at saner mo- 
ments. He reasoned — and knew he was in the right — 
that love must have a firmer basis. 

And at these times the far-off war, the scenes of grim 
realism lived through in the trenches, called to him irre- 
sistibly. 

That was a man’s life. 

This? He shrugged his broad shoulders. He would 
go away and forget her ; put her for ever out of his heart. 

If only his strength would return ! 

Like Samson shorn, he cried in his soul for one more 
fight to the death ; to go down, a man among men, freed 
from the weakening spell of a woman. 

They arrived at the Hotel Danieli and were shown up to 
their host’s room. He had tidied it in masculine fashion, 
all the superfluous papers and pipes piled , neatly on a 
chair, a pair of slippers thrust into the corner; and he gave 
them a warm greeting. 

‘‘ This is nice. You’re bricks to come ! We’ll have tea 
up at once. I sent out for some cakeg but I don’t know 
if they’ve got ’em. I believe every one goes to bed when 
it rains in this country.” 

Isoel was looking about her. Her eyes fell on the man- 
telpiece. 

Why, you’ve kept that big shell ? ” 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


179 


‘‘ Rather ! My prize. * One for a good boy.’ ” He 
was always easier with her in the presence of a third 
party. “ I found it was a little too large to wear as a 
locket round my neck.” 

She laughed. 

“ I tried to pierce mine and broke every needle I pos- 
sessed, ruined a hatpin in the candle and then gave it up 
in disgust.” 

“ You want a proper drill,” said Judy. 

“ Never mind.” Doran smiled. “ It shall have its re- 
ward ! I’d quite forgotten.” He pulled out an untidy 
drawer and produced from a box a string of shells, of an 
iridescent greenish colour and returned to her side. “ I 
meant to give you these before but they had such a silly 
useless clasp I looked about for another one.” 

Isoel hesitated. Judy stepped into the breach. 

“ Don’t be a goose and say you " never accept gifts from 
gentlemen ’ ! ” Her jolly laugh cleared the air. 

“ I won’t. I’ll say ‘ Thank you kindly ’ ! ” She was 
learning the ways of the world. Her face was a little 
flushed for Judy’s quite innocent fun had saved her from 
a false step. 

“ It will match that green umbrella of yours.” Doran 
watched her unfasten the catch and examine it with 
widening eyes. 

“ How pretty it is. But far 'too good ! ” 

Judy bent over the trophy. Inwardly she was sur- 
prised. For the string of shells was hardly worth one of 
the little round pearls that encircled a pale emerald set 
with the cunning of days long past. 

“ It’s a shocking stone,” said Doran quickly. I told 
the man I thought it was glass. But he answered, with- 
out turning a hair, that the Haws proclaimed it genuine ! 
Seemed a funny guarantee. Put it on.” 

She attempted to do so but as she swung the string over 
her head it caught on the brim of her hat. 

“ One minute ! ” Clumsily he rectified the mistake, 
and his fingers grkzed the girl’s neck, bare above the 
simple blouse. 

Judy, lazily watching the pair, saw the blood surge up 
under Doran’s bronze skin. She turned away with a 
brusque movement. 


i8o 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


I’m dying for tea.” She spoke at random. So that 
was how matters stood? Poor old Francis. Caught at 
last ! But was the match good enough ? She thrust aside 
the disloyal thought. For the lonely girl attracted her. 
Perhaps it would not come to that ? Anyhow it was not 
her business. 

The host was apologetic. 

They always take their time here.” 

“A case of ‘subito'f IsoH smiled. “I’ve learned 
the meaning of that, to my cost. Venice is an education.” 

It certainly had been to her. 

“ Any more adventures ? ” asked Doran. He regretted 
the words as soon as uttered, remembering how he had 
promised her one at the Lido — and kept his word ! 

“ Yes, heaps ! ” She settled herself in the angle of the 
sofa where Tory, in the name of love, had cleverly played 
a game for money. “ The most startling of them all hap- 
pened after lunch to-day. Miss Rosamund Percival of- 
fered to lend me an ancient novel.” 

Judy felt a secret triumph. 

“ I hope it was proper ? ” she inquired. 

“ I’ve only read the first chapter. It’s ' The Woman 
that Thou gavest me.’ ” 

“ Sounds like a wedding present,” said Judy, who dis- 
dained novels. “ One of those that people exchange with 
a dozen clocks for a set of fish knives.” She pulled out 
her cigarettes. “ This allowed in your boudoir? ” 

Doran nodded. 

“ Have one of mine? Unless you prefer to smoke a 
pipe.” 

“ Well, I’ve done that — at a pinch ! ” said Miss Dalgle- 
ish composedly. She sat down sideways on a chair lean- 
ing her arms on the back of it. 

Doran held out a lighted match. 

“ Mind your fringe,” he said wickedly. “ I don’t want 
to set fire to it.” 

Judy grinned. 

“ It wants cutting. Who’ . the best barber here? ” She 
did not wait for his answer but went on with a chuckle, 
“ I had an awful time in Milan. I think I must sink my 
personal pride and tell you that wild adventure.” She 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


i8i 


inhaled a deep breath of smoke and let it escape through 
her nostrils. 

Do.” Doran scented mischief. “ Did Figarro make 
love to you ? ” 

“ No fear ! Have you got an ash tray? ” 

I use the carpet. It makes ’em brush it.” 

“Righto! Well, to resume my narrative — Bella 
would approve that phrase — I strayed into a big saloon 
full of sleek-headed sirens being waved for the evening. 
Rather amusing, some of their talk; but that’s not the 
point of the story. I explained that I wanted a close cut, 
as my hair grows so frightfully fast, and a shampoo, and 
when the man had done this he left me to dry in front of 
one of those hot air things. Picture my horror when he 
returned with a tray full of grey wigs — ‘ transforma- 
tions,’ I think they call ’em — and before I could say 
‘ Jack Robinson ’ he’d clapped one down over my ears.” 

She paused, enjoying their hearty laughter. “ I’ve never 
been so mad in my life, and the worst of it was the oily 
brute couldn’t speak a word of French and my Italian is 
very rocky. I could see him, you know, in the glass, 
squirming about, waving his hands and giving little darts 
with a comb, his mouth half-full of hairpins. I looked 
just like an old ram, with two curls standing up on either # 
side of my head, and when I tried to get it off — the 
beastly thing was full of springs — he misunderstood and 
added on top an erection like a tea-pot handle ! The 
sirens meanwhile had all turned round, deeply thrilled, to 
proffer advice. I wonder I got out alive ! ” 

“ Oh, stop ! ” IsoH was weak with laughter. She 
dried her eyes. Doran had collapsed beside her. 

“ Isn’t she a treat? ” he whispered, 

“ Oh, it’s all very well for you,” said the victim. “ But 
it cost me a pretty penny.” 

“You never bought one?” Isoel choked. 

“ I’d have bought the whole bally shop, to get out of 
it decently, so I compromised in the end with a bottle of 
somebody’s hair-restorer. He wouldn’t let me off for 
nothing and powders and piints weren’t in my line. He 
had the sense to see that! It had a picture of Lady 
Godiva on it, clad in the usual way. He pointed it out 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


1182 

with a hopeful expression and a gesture which reached 
to his knees. So I brought it home and gave it to Bella. 
She zvas so pleased ! And she said ‘ Oh, Judy dear, how 
thoughtful.'’ The speaker gave a bark of delight. “ She 
uses it religiously, though it smells like the Civet Cat 
House ! ” 

Here the waiter appeared with the tea and the trio drew 
up to the table. It was a most hilarious .meal. Judy had 
certainly broken the ice if that had been her intention. 
Doran had recovered his spirits. 

“ Tell us some more of your adventures ? ” he suggested 
to Judy after a little. 

“ No, it’s IsoH’s turn now.” She used the girl’s Chris- 
tian name for the first time and received in return a glance 
of pleasure from the owner. 

“ I can’t think of one at the moment.” She sat facing 
Miss Dalgleish, her chin propped on her hand. Doran’s 
eyes were fixed upon the curve of her arm and the delicate 
wrist. How perfect she was, from head to foot ! Surely 
she must be well-born with those slender hands and arched 
insteps ? There was not a plebeian note about her. 

She felt his gaze and glanced up. He looked away 
guiltily. Judy broke the little silence. 

“ I’ve remembered something, if you’d like it.” 

“ Do tell us.” The others’ voices rang out in unison. 

“ Link little fingers,” laughed the girl. “ And wish 
hard.” Doran complied. “ What did you wish ? ” She 
was curious. 

“ I shan’t say, or it won’t come true.” He smiled, but 
his grey eyes were wistful. 

She nodded. “ Oh, I forgot that.” 

“ I’ll tell you, though, if it does. Are you satisfied with 
that compromise ? ” 

“ Yes.” Her lids fell under his glance. It revealed 
more than he suspected. 

“ I know he cares,” she said to herself. “ It’s coming 
all right, thanks to the Virgin. And I felt something 
would happen in Venice ! ” Golden dreams rose before 
her. 

Doran, with an effort, turned to his other guest. 

“Have some more tea, Judy? And then we’re dying 
for the story.” 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


183 


IPs not about myself this time/' She handed him her 
empty cup. “ Lemon, please, and no sugar. It happened 
to a pal of mine. She was a thorough good sport, one 
of the original members of the old Pioneer Club. I be- 
lieve she started a rational dress, used to go about at night 
with a crush hat under her arm. Suited her. She was 
tall and slight. But people weren’t accustomed then to 
sense, — only sensibility ! I’m speaking now of twenty 
years ago and she was getting on then. She generally had 
a little crowd of street urchins after her and it was worse 
on the Continent.” 

She paused to drink her last cup. 

“ Well, she happened to be on a walking tour in France 
off the beaten track. It was after the Franco-Prussian 
War and she halted at a little town not far from the 
frontier. She was dressed in her usual way — only more 
so.” Doran smiled. “ A hilly country and all that — no 
good being hampered by long skirts. She made a bit of 
a sensation and some one suggested she was a spy, a man 
disguised as a woman, and then there was the devil to 
pay! France was still sore and suspicious and the word 
‘ spy ’ was quite sufficient. They mobbed her, and threw 
stones until the gendarmes interfered, marched her off to 
the hotel de ville and sent in haste for the mayor. . 

“ He decided she must be searched! You can picture 
Miranda’s feelings? Luckily she kept her head and re- 
membered that she’d got a letter from a brother of hers 
in the Home Office which might be useful at this crisis. 
It was in a blue envelope with O.H.M.S. printed across 
it, and she brandished it under the mayor’s nose and 
threatened him with Britannia’s wrath if he laid a finger 
on one of her subjects. The mayor pretended to read the 
letter and, inwardly frightened by the threat yet preserv- 
ing his own dignity, made a favour of releasing her. 

“ But Miranda wasn’t that sort of ass ! ” Judy gave a 
joyous chuckle. ‘‘ She pointed out she had been insulted 
and detained upon a false charge. The least he could do 
in apology was to see her off with every honour and pro- 
tected from further annoyance. Otherwise she intended 
to stay and communicate with the nearest consul. In the 
end, the mayor, very subdued, ordered his carriage and 
drove her himself through the town to the station. He 


i 84 the best in LIFE 

wanted to have the landau closed but this didn’t suif 
Miranda ! ” ' 

“ Good for her ! ” cried Doran. “ One can picture her 
bowing to the crowd, and the mayor, very stiff, at her 
side.” 

“ Yes. But he scored in the end.” 

‘^How?” 

“ Well, it’s rather painful. Just as the train was going 
to start, with a little crowd on the platform and the mayor 
in front, inwardly thankful to speed this disconcerting 
guest, Miranda, who was a thorough sportsman felt mag- 
nanimous and thrust out her hand to shake his. To her 
disgust he bared his head, stooped and kissed it ! Oh 
Lord ! ” Judy groaned, “ You should have heard her tell 
the story. She used to shout, still mad : ‘ And I hadn’t 

time to box his ears ! ’ Poor dear old Miranda ! ” 

The listeners applauded. 

“ It must have been quaint,” said IsoH. “ I wonder if 
he knew he’d scored ? ” 

“ I shouldn’t think so,” laughed Doran. “ It was just 
his Gallic chivalry. I should like to meet Miss Miranda.” 

“ You can’t. She’s joined the majority.” Judy rose 
from her chair briskly. I believe it’s stopped raining,” 
she said, moving to the open window. “ What a ripping 
view you have. You ought to make a charge for it ! ” 

She gazed out at the scene before her, drinking in the 
fresh air. 

The heavy clouds were rolling back, and between them 
and the sea the sky was visible, mistily blue like the shell 
of a blackbird’s egg. Across it, in the path of the sun, 
lay a single feather of rosy light, astray as though it had 
dropped from the wing of an ibis on its homeward jour- 
ney. 

Judy’s face was a little sad. She had reached the age 
when gaps appear in the ranks of early friends and al- 
though she would have scorned the notion that a single 
life was not the best, there were moments of chilly loneli- 
ness when the approach of the grim years of fading 
strength weighed on her spirits. She had no morbid fear 
of death but she dreaded the “ last lap,” as she called it, 
at the mercy of strange hands. For Bella, she knew, 
would go first. 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


185 


Those two young people, now ? 

For a fleeting second she envied them. Then she 
turned upon herself. “Judy! You’re getting senile, 
what you want is a brisk walk.” 

She called back to the pair. 

“ Let’s go out. It’s quite fine.” 

They agreed, a shade reluctantly. It was peaceful, sit- 
ting there, with the first soft glow of the sunset outside 
stealing into the dim room, and the odd safety that both 
of them felt in the presence of that sturdy friend. They 
could dare to dream, and look, and wonder. 

Doran stood up with a yawn. 

“Exercise, the Englishman’s creed! We’ve made a 
little god of it, but it’s seeing us through in this war. 
Though it’s queer how all sorts of men, used to a sed- 
entary life, get knocked into shape so soon.” 

Judy, hunting for her stick, flung back over her 
shoulder, 

“ That’s because our hearts are in it. The Germans 
are trying to win by their brains but there’s something 
more powerful even than science. With all their magnifi- 
cent organizations they don’t go singing into battle or 
dribbling a football before them. They’re not sportsmen 
— not clean enough. They terrorize but they don’t play 
fair and, although they pretend to be His relations, they 
forget the Almighty’s a gentleman ! ” 

“ With which characteristic remark, she swept the lazy 
pair before her with a “Yoicks, for’ard!” that fright- 
ened a waiter taking a nap in the passage. 

They turned to the right up the riva filling fast with 
the usual crowd of loafers and shawled women with chil- 
dren clinging to their skirts. At the corner of the Ponte 
di Paglia, an old crone, her grey hair tucked away under a 
scarf of faded colours, stood, busily selling some dainty 
from a basket propped on the parapet. 

“ What is it ? ” Isoel asked, as she saw a child reach up 
on tiptoe, a soldo out-thrust in its grimy paw and pop his 
purchase into his mouth. 

“ Like to try one ? They’re rather nice. Little figs 
dried in the sun with an almond cunningly introduced. 
I used to love them as a boy.” Doran paused before the 
vendor. 


i86 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Si, si. Buonissimo ! She smiled at him with eyes 
like sloes in the weather-beaten, wrinkled face. 

Doran’s hand went to his pocket. He chaffed her in the 
dialect, to which she responded delightedly with a smiling 
reference to his teeth, showing her own withered gums, 
and followed it up with a local proverb that hails from 
the East — and is none too proper ! 

Doran laughed with a conscious glance at Isoel on the 
higher step, thankful she could not understand. He knew 
the custom the woman referred to. For in oriental coun- 
tries a nut is a declaration of passion when offered to a 
member of the opposite sex, not necessarily including 
marriage. The Rabelaisian old lady had laid a stress on 
the almond’s cunning concealment within the fruit. 

“ What is she saying? ” asked Judy. 

“ She’s envying us ” — his eyes danced — “ our healthy 
tastes. La gioventu!” 

The crone nodded, catching the word. 

'' Buon appetito!'' she wished him gravely. 

He stood upon the lower step and suddenly a little hand 
in a neat suede glove fell on his arm. 

‘‘ Why, there you are ! ” cried a gay voice. 

He wheeled round. Mrs. Serocold was laughing up 
into his face. 

“ I haven’t seen you for ages,” she said. Then, as the 
others stared at her, she gave one of her childish pouts. 

Oh, I didn’t know you were with friends.” 

This forced him to introduce her. He did it most un- 
willingly. Would she recognize IsoH? He slurred a 
little over the name. But Mrs. Serocold glanced at the 
girl indifferently and turned to Judy. 

“ Surely we’ve met before? Years ago in Holly Walk. 
lYou and Mr. Doran fenced one Sunday night in the studio.” 

“ It’s quite likely.” Judy smiled. 

“And you beat him,” laughed Tory. “I remember 
now, quite well. What are you eating? ” She stared at 
the basket and the little rows of dried figs. 

“ Have one ? ” suggested Doran. 

“ No, thanks. They look sticky.” She glanced down 
at her pale grey gloves, which matched her well-cut coat 
and skirt. 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


187 


Isoel’s eyes, following hers, narrowed. Was this the 
fair owner of that other pair, one of which still lay with 
the shells in her room? She recalled the incident at 
Cook’s and a little germ of jealousy quickened in her am- 
bitious heart, and added to the dislike she had felt at her 
first meeting with the lady. What a mercy she did not 
recognize her ! 

She bent forward and took another of the figs, which 
Doran held in a vine-leaf, and nibbled it like a young 
squirrel. 

“ They’re so nice, full of surprises ! ” She smiled up 
into his face. 

Mrs. Serocold noticed the action. Who was the girl? 
Her brows contracted. For, although she had carried 
out the project she had conceived in coming to Venice, 
she was getting very bored with the place, and Doran 
had failed her in other ways. At their next meeting after 
the night when the famous cheque had changed hands 
he had resumed his brotherly manner — which was not 
at all what she desired! 

“ Are you going my way? ” She addressed Judy and 
they moved on up the broad steps, chatting together pleas- 
antly. 

Isoel and Doran followed in the warm silence that 
seemed now to enfold them when alone. The light of 
the sun, setting fast, stained the marble tracery of the 
Doge’s Palace a delicate pink and ahead of them San 
Giorgio glowed as though lit with hidden fires. Boats 
stole home with golden sails, the corners gay with the 
signs of their guilds : here a cock with flaming comb and 
there a great rayed sun. The sea, deep blue with violet 
streaks, was as smooth as glass and about the whole won- 
derful picture a luminous mist rose with a Turneresque 
glory. 

Happy ? ” He looked at her. 

“ Who wouldn’t be ? ” she said softly. 

Even her skin, he noticed, was warmed by the pearly 
glow and her burnished hair had taken on a deeper shade. 
She made him think of Galatea, roused to life at the call 
of passion. 

” I shall dream of this when I’m back in the trenches.” 


i88 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Her face changed at this reminder of the short time 
that remained for her purpose. 

You’re not going just yet? ” 

The anxious note in her lowered voice pleased him 
beyond measure. 

“ In another fortnight/’ he replied, I come up before 
the Medical Board.” 

“ And then?” 

“If they pass me for active service, back to France. 
At least, I suppose so. One can’t tell. It might be Gal- 
lipoli. But I’m not counting on such luck.” He sighed. 
“ Although I’m much better I’m not quite sound yet. 
Still I hope they’ll find me work at home or perhaps at the 
base abroad. I want to feel in harness again.” 

“ Tired of Venice? ” She spoke lightly but in her eyes 
was a shadow of pique. 

“ Never! It’s been too perfect for that. If it weren’t 
for this war I don’t believe that I could tear myself away. 
I shall never forget some hours I’ve spent here.” 

They turned into the Piazzetta. Isoel’s heavy lids were 
lowered. 

“ I shall miss the guide, the only one who did not mur- 
der all Romance 1 ” 

“ Didn’t he? I’m glad of that.” He was fighting now 
for self-control. The dangerous hour of the sunset 
brought with it a subtle regret, the presage of what the 
parting would mean. 

How could he go away and leave her? Yet it seemed 
the only thing to do. 

“ You’ll send me a line to say where you are and the 
decision of the Board?” She spoke rather wistfully. 

“ Yes. Of course.” His voice was husky. 

The pair ahead had halted to look at the crowded 
Piazza and as they approached them Phipps strolled up 
and joined the group. 

“What a bevy of beauty!” He shook hands gaily 
with Mrs. Serocold whom he had met before with Doran. 
He admired her smartness and light chatter. 

“ Completed by yourself, you mean ? ” Doran looked 
at him quizzingly. “ Another suit ! I begin to think 
you’ve an interest in a tailoring firm.” 

“ It’s the other side of the account, unluckily.” Pnipps 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


189 


grinned. “ ThaPs why I bolted from town.” He gave 
his high boyish laugh. “ Writs falling like winter 
snows.” 

IsoH saw a glance pass between Mrs. Serocold and 
Doran, gay and intimate on her part, a shade supercilious 
on his. 

She was sure that this was the fair unknown who had 
left her gloves in his keeping, and she wondered how 
much he cared for her and if her rival boded mischief. 

Again she thanked the kindly saints who had saved her 
from recognition. But she must be careful and watch 
her speech. She felt nervous and self-conscious. 

The seats were filling up quickly round the little tables 
in the Square, people taking aperitifs, or light beer as 
fancy dictated. 

“ It’s not too cold to sit about, is it ? ” Doran asked 
the party. “ Let’s go across to the Ortes Rosa and have 
cocktails all round. They’ve started an American Bar.” 

Mrs. Serocold clapped her hands. 

Lovely ! But I shouldn’t have thought Venice was so 
civilized.” 

” Ah, you don’t really know it,” said Doran. He 
walked between her and Judy, relieved and yet cursing 
fate that his tete-d-tefe with Isoel had been brought to a 
conclusion. 

Ignoring Phipps, she was trying in vain to keep pace 
with Miss Dalgleish who had slipped a hand through her 
arm. 

“Don’t I?” Tory laughed. “I’m glad to learn 
there’s anything new. The recognized entertainments 
suggest the Y. M. C. A. I went to the Fenice last night 
and sat through a dull opera, vilely mounted, with poor 
voices and the longest eutFacfes I’ve ever known ! ” 

“ They do spin them out a bit,” Doran assented. 

They grouped themselves round two tables drawn to- 
gether and after he had given the orders he reverted to 
his last remark. 

“ I’ve often wondered why they don’t start petits che- 
vaux in the foyer for amusement during the intervals. 
The Italians love any gamble.” He glanced across at 
Isoel, who was looking a trifle bored between Mrs. 
Serocold and a rather silent Phipps, and drew her 


190 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


into the conversation. “ You'd enjoy that, wouldnT 
you ? ” 

To his surprise, she looked troubled. 

“No. I mean, I don’t play cards.” For although she 
divined it was a game, the words held no meaning for her. 
Roulette she would have understood, from those far off 
days at Monaco. 

Tory turned and stared at her. Doran put in hastily. 

“ Why, you’re mixing it up with Baccarat. They’re 
generally twins at the Casino ! ” He guessed that she 
had never been to a gay French watering-place, and he 
went on rather foolishly, in his anxiety to help her, 
“ You know, those artful little horses that go round and 
round in a circle and always ‘ have ’ you at the finish.” 

She made a wild shot in the dark. 

“ I’m afraid I don’t go to races.” 

Mrs. Serocold gave a titter. Judy laughed openly. 

“Good girl. Wish I didn’t!” 

Isoel’s face was crimson now. What had she said? 
She caught Phipps behind his glass wink at her neighbour, 
that well-dressed lady by Doran’s side. 

The latter saw this by-play too. It roused in him a 
murderous instinct. For all his heart went out to the 
girl in an impulse of pity and protection. 

How should she know ? In that dreary life of a daily 
struggle for existence. It proved her innocence, he 
thought. He began to talk rapidly. 

“ This war has knocked racing hollow. I hear that at 
Epsom the Grand Stand is being taken over for Red Cross 
work and that there will be no Ascot this season. Rough 
luck on you frivolous people, eh, Tory ? ” His voice was 
malicious. 

“ Don’t you let him bully you,” said Phipps in a laugh- 
ing aside. “ These soldiers, Mrs. Serocold, think they 
can run the whole world.” 

Doran leaned across the table. His eyes were steely, a 
slight smile twitched the strong, mobile mouth. 

“ Well, you hold the remedy in your hands. Don’t 
you, my dear fellow? ” 

Then, as Judy grinned broadly, he raised his glass and 
winked at her. 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


191 


IsoH was well revenged. 

Judy responded. 

“ Here’s to them ! Our brave boys everywhere.” She 
gulped down the golden mixture, disdaining the use of 
straws. Then, with tact, changed the subject. ‘'Amus- 
ing here, at this hour, isn’t it ? ” she addressed them all. 
“ Do look at that couple passing. I’m sure they’re Ger- 
man honeymooners. Wooden advertisements of love! 
They remind me of those big dolls ventriloquists use at 
their entertainments.” 

“ They are rather like marionettes. A rarity in Venice 
now. Germans, I mean,” Doran explained. “ Have you 
ever been to a little show at the back of the Rialto Mar- 
ket — the Marionettes Theatre?” 

“ No,” said Judy. “ What’s it like ? ” 

“ Most amusing. You should see it. I’ll take a box 
and we’ll all go.” He glanced round at his guests. He 
was regretting his sudden outburst. All right if he’d been 
alone with Phipps but in the presence of ladies — Now he 
sought to ease the strain. “You’ll come?” He ad- 
dressed Tory. “That’s good! And you, Stacy?” 

Phipps was not easily crushed. 

“ Thanks very much. If you’re sure there’s room.” 

“ Heaps. If not, we’ll have two boxes. Wait a min- 
ute before you bless me. The highest price for this lux- 
ury is five lire, all told ! ” He laughed at their surprised 
faces. “ It’s patronized by the populace, market-women 
and glass-blowers. I doubt if many English tourists even 
know that it exists. Hope you won’t regret the bargain ? ” 

“ Can one smoke? ” Judy enquired. 

“ Rather ! Though the elite usually suck oranges.” 

Mrs. Serocold pouted at this. 

“ How does one dress ? ” 

“ Oh, my dear lady ! ” He shrugged his shoulders. 
“ A black shawl and a stuff skirt, with a bright kerchief 
over your bosom. That’s the regulation costume. But 
you wear your best pair of ear-rings.” He glanced, 
smiling, at IsoH. “Yes — those.” As she touched her 
own. “ The very thing. You’ll be the Queen.” 

She gave him a little grateful nod. For in his keen 
soldierly face she saw a tender understanding. 


192 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


What a dear he was! For the first time she felt an 
impulse of affection that bordered on love and left her 
dazed a little by the strength of it. 

The party broke up presently having fixed the auspi- 
cious night for the entertainment Doran proposed. 

Mrs. Serocold and Phipps departed in a gondola, and 
the others proceeded on foot after settling the pair in their 
boat and chaffing them on the elopement.” 

Isoel moved in a dream. Would he always protect her 
like this? But what a lot she had to learn! Now her 
ambitious schemes were tinged with a keen desire not to 
disgrace him. For she trusted profoundly in her star. 
He would marry her. She was sure of it. She longed 
to slip away and steal to the shrine of San Isidoro and 
steep herself once again in the sensuous side of her reli- 
gion. 

Meanwhile Mrs. Serocold was questioning Phipps. 

Who was Miss Dark ? Phipps hadn’t the slightest idea. 
But in his customary fashion he sided with the lady’s 
views. 

Yes, a little voyante perhaps, but a pretty girl, no 
doubt of that 1 

No. She was quite by herself. He believed she had 
come straight from London. 

Decidedly a rum mistake ! He agreed that most people 
— well, of the sort one knew — had no illusions on the 
form of sport known as petits chevanx! Couldn’t have 
knocked about much. Lived probably in the suburbs. 

But old Doran was hard hit ! One could see that with 
half an eye. 

Miss Dalgleish was a character, but he had no use for 
suffragettes and all that, don’t you know. He liked, as a 
rule, little women ; smart and dainty, with plenty to say. 

She drank it all in gaily. He made his intention obvi- 
ous. They arrived, too soon, at her hotel. Mrs. Serocold 
demurred when he offered to pay the gondolier. 

Phipps insisted. Then it transpired that he hadn’t 
‘‘ change.” Must “ owe ” it her. 

Might he make it an excuse for calling one after- 
noon ? He stood by her on the steps and added that he’d 
always wondered what this old palace was like inside. 

Nothing loath she led the way into a hall where rocking 


THE VISION SPLENDID 193 

chairs and bamboo tables rewarded his thirst for 
archaeological knowledge. 

He offered her a cigarette and she shook her finger at 
him archly. 

“ Not here. People would talk ! '' 

So that meant her sitting-room. There they grew con- 
fidential. 

Eventually he earned his dinner. 


CHAPTER XVII 


HE tiny theatre was packed. The three ladies sat 
in front of the shabby box with its bare floor and 



« wooden partitions papered in red on which some 
local wit had scrawled ribald remarks in white chalk. 

Below them were crowded benches, mostly filled with 
women and girls, whilst the men strolled in the narrow 
gangway exchanging greetings, laughs and jokes, Tos- 
cani clipped between their lips at a jaunty angle, felt 
hats drawn forward over their dark faces and, here and 
there, a brigand-like cloak thrown across a stalwart shoul- 


der. 


It was a scene full of life, the healthy life of the people, 
dark in tone as a Vandyke picture with the black shawls 
of the women, but relieved at points by the uniform of a 
soldier, a blue and silver patch. 

In the box facing them was a pair of officers in dark 
tunics, with magenta stripes running down the outer seam 
of the trousers. 

“ Those are gunners,’’ Doran explained to IsoH, who 
was watching them. Fine-looking fellows, aren’t they? 
Especially the one on the left.” 

“ Yes. He reminds me of an eagle.” 

“He wouldn’t enjoy the compliment! It’s the hated 
badge of Austria. Not so many years ago it was flaunt- 
ing on the Piazza flags.” 

He peered down over her shoulder. 

“ Do you notice how few of the men are young? Al- 
though Billow is working hard. I’m quite sure they’re pre- 
paring for war, calling the men up secretly to join their 
units or hold themselves ready, beyond those now mobil- 
ized. This morning from the Public Gardens I saw a fine 
exhibition. Three hydroplanes practising. They came 
out from their base behind the Arsenal, great birds of 
war, dazzling in the bright sunshine. It struck a curious, 
martial note among the sleepy sailing barges.” 

“ It would. I should have liked to see them.” 

194 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


195 

“Come to-morrow on the chance? Ten o’clock. Is 
that too early? I’ll be on the riva before the hotel.” 

“ I’m afraid I can’t. I’ve promised to go with Miss 
Dalgleish to a studio. But I could manage the morning 
after.” 

Mrs. Serocold turned her head. 

“ Francis? ” Her voice was pettish. She disapproved 
of this shabby place and the arrangement of the chairs. 
For Judy sat stolidly between her and Isoel and although 
Phipps stood behind her she felt neglected by the host. 
“ What time do they begin ? ” 

“ Oh, any time ! ” He was amused. “ I warned you, 
Tory, so don’t complain! Here’s something to console 
you.” He handed across a large box of chocolates which 
she accepted with an airy word of thanks. 

She untied the ribbon and leaned back to take Phipps’s 
eager advice as to her first choice. His cherubic face 
looked decidedly greedy. Judy was smoking happily, 
watching the different types below ; the slender-limbed, 
handsome girls, their shawls thrown back, disclosing coral 
and gay beads round their olive throats, and their well- 
dressed glossy hair as they flirted with the gondoliers, 
glass-blowers and men from the market. There was 
more indulgence allowed to them here, she thought, than 
in the land of France. 

Doran drew up his chair close behind IsoH’s. Now he 
could talk in a lower voice that reached her despite the 
hubbub below of chatter and sonorous laughter. 

“ These are for you. I hope you like them ? ” He 
slipped another and prettier box with a sunny picture of 
the Molo on its cover into her lap. It was full of sugar- 
plums, pink and white, with almonds inside. 

She thanked him, adding : 

“ They remind me of my childhood days years ago at 
Monaco.” 

“ You lived there?” n 

“ Most of the time. In a villa. My mother was deli- 
cate.” Somehow the lie stuck in her throat, as the sweets 
before her caused the veil of the past to rise on her first 
party : the christening of a neighbour’s baby in a squalid 
street of poor houses. 

How her life had changed since then! And what was 


196 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


to follow? Her heart beat faster. A fortnight more 
and Doran would leave. 

Shall I pass them on ? ” 

No. They’re for you. I chose them because they 
made me think of Spring and sweetness — and IsoH — a 
trinity of excellence ! ” He laughed to cover the note of 
feeling underlying the pretty speech. 

“You always think of me,” she said. 

He nodded his head. It was only too true. 

“ You’re not a very forgettable person.” His lips were 
close to her ear. 

“I’m glad of that. I should hate to feel that our 
friendship ended when you left. Venice will seem 
strange without you. But, perhaps, some day we shall 
meet in London.” 

“ I hope so.” His face looked drawn. 

A bell rang and the lights went down. 

“ Now ! ” She leaned back in her chair. 

Doran’s hand lay on the rail but he did not remove it. 
He wanted to feel, for a moment, the weight of that 
slender shoulder press against his scarred fingers. How 
dear she was, and young, and fragrant! He could see 
above the line of her collar the string of shells peeping 
forth with its emerald clasp encircled with pearls. 

So she valued it? With an effort he turned his atten- 
tion to the play, before him. 

The scene upon the tiny stage showed to the right a 
trattoria, with walls distempered a pale ochre, and a per- 
gola before the entrance covered with vine leaves from 
which hung bunches of little green grapes. Beneath this 
was a rough table, flanked by a pair of benches, and orna- 
mented with a flask of Chianti and some coarse glasses. 

Towards this retreat, sacred to Bacchus, down the 
straight dusty road came the quaint figure of a puppet, 
tripping on the tips of its toes and turning its head from 
side to side until it reached the green arbour where it sat 
down jerkily and drew off its broad-brimmed hat. 

“ Oh ! ” IsoH danced in her chair. “ Do look I He’s 
mopping his brow ! ” 

“ So he is. How clever ! It’s all worked by wires, you 
know. You can just see them through the glasses.” 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


197 


He paused as a shrill, strident voice from behind the 
flies called : “ Tommaso ! ” With the word the puppet’s 

mouth opened, then snapped together again. A ripple of 
laughter rose from the house. 

The painted face turned slowly and stared at the audi- 
ence in disgust. Then the owner banged the table. 

A waiter, taking little hops, skipped up, napkin on arm 
and the hidden voice supplied the orders, whereupon the 
figure retired. From the other corner of the stage a 
wooden dog, painted ginger, came hobbling along, sat 
down, raised a hind leg thoughtfully and indulged in a 
hearty scratch. 

Whistles arose in the gallery. The dog stood up, and 
turned its back to the house as though resenting such 
conduct. Its stumpy tail began to wag and its ears flick 
up and down. This provoked more mirth from the audi- 
ence, with ribald remarks. 

The waiter returned bearing a dish heaped up with 
macaroni ; the old peasant fell upon it, cleverly twisting 
the long strings on to his fork, then threw back his head, 
clicked open his painted jaws and the macaroni dis- 
appeared. 

“Well, I never!” Judy stared and laughed until the 
box re-echoed. “ I’ll bet you, two to one,” she cried, 
“ he’ll pour down that Chianti.” 

But here a fresh actor appeared. 

With a “ clipperty-clop ” a wooden horse came canter- 
ing down the road, a jaunty figure on its back in doublet 
and hose, with a feathered cap. It drew up at the inn, 
dismounted, hitched up the reins on a nail and tidpped 
forward ferociously; a dare-devil fellow with sweeping 
moustache and enormous eyes, black as sloes. 

“ That’s the hero of the piece,” Doran whispered. 

“ Now, where’s the lady.^” 

“She’s at the window above. Look!” Isoel was 
quite excited. 

For a green shutter had opened wide and a little head in 
a red wig, with a peacock’s feather perched on it, was 
thrust out coquettishly. 

“ Isn’t she fetching? ” Doran laughed. “ A Venetian 
beauty, after Titian! Look at him standing up on tip- 


198 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


toe and blowing kisses in the air. The horse is gazing 
up too. Lord ! — it’s been too much for it ! ” For that 
animal had sunk back with a rattle on its haunches. 

Judy turned, with a radiant face. 

“ Ripping! How big are they?” 

“ About three feet, all told. Hush ! Here’s the love 
duet.” 

Two voices, a girl’s and a man’s, with a vast amount 
of tremolo, had started somewhere behind the scenes to 
the tinkle of a worn piano. 

The comedy moved on apace. Out came an angry 
husband, rapier in hand to punish the lover. A duel 
ensued, extremely clever as the toy swords thrust and 
parried up to the final tragedy. 

The stout elderly puppet lay prone in the dust, mourned 
by the dog, who lifted his muzzle in the air and showed 
marked signs of grief. 

'‘Exit the husband!” Tory tittered. “I don’t think 
it’s quite proper! You didn’t warn me of this, Francis.” 
She laughed at him behind Judy’s back. 

“ Poor Felix! ” he said softly. Tory shook her finger 
at him. “ But happy Reginald,” he added. He saw her 
face change at the name. “ Or Dick — or Cossie.” His 
voice was dreamy. 

Mrs. Serocold disdained any response to this mean 
attack. Phipps looked much amused. 

“ Add Stacy,” whispered Doran in Isoql’s ear, “ and 
subtract Arthur. What’s the result ? ” 

“ Francis ! ” She mocked. “ Shall I bet you a pair of 
grey suede gloves?'* 

She had turned slightly in saying this and she saw that 
her shot had hit the mark. 

“ Ah, I had you there ! ” she laughed. 

“ Never mind. I’ll pay you out. Look, they’re off ! 
It’s an elopement.” 

For the heroine had flown downstairs, embraced her 
lover and mounted the steed with his assistance after 
some by-play, and now Lothario was behind her and they 
galloped off amidst frantic applause. 

This ended the first scene. 

The lights went up and the audience began to move 
about again, the men clapping on their hats removed in 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


199 


deference to the actors. Little groups gathered round 
stalls on either side of the house where limonata and 
water ices were sold with sweet cakes of polenta. A 
smell of orange peel arose. 

Mrs. Serocold gave a sniff disdainfully, and pushed 
back her chair. The others rose and drew to the back of 
the box where Doran opened the door to let in some fresh 
air. 

Permessof'^ He drew out his cigarettes with a mis- 
chievious glance at Miss Dalgleish and handed the case 
round. 

“ Yes, on one condition,” she laughed. “ You’ve got 
to come to a dance with me, Friday evening. Are you 
on?” 

“ I don’t know. Where is it? ” 

“ In a studio. Quite a small affair, but I ran across an 
old friend at Christabel’s the other day. Van Degan. 
He’s an American and belongs to the artist colony here. 
You’ll like him. He’s a sport. I happened to mention 
your name to him and it turns out that he knew your 
father, admired his work tremendously. So he begged 
me to bring you along. Christabel Price and her aunt 
are going, and Miss Dark.” She smiled slightly. “ So 
you’ll have two pretty girls to dance with.” 

‘H’m not at all sure I can dance. I mean, with this 
idiotic cough.” 

“ Never mind. You can sit out and get us supper all 
round. Oh, it’s fancy dress ! I forgot.” 

Doran frowned and seized the excuse. 

“ I think that settles it,” he said. “ Thanks, very much, 
all the same.” 

But Judy thrust the objection aside. 

Then come disguised as a British waiter? Van 
Degan will quite understand and he’s very keen on meet- 
ing you.” 

Doran was thinking rather fast. To steal one dance 
with Isoel: the joy and pain of holding her in his arms 
for a fleeting minute. Dared he risk it? Had he the 
strength afterwards to say farewell? 

“ Do come.” She put in her oar. 

Mrs. Serocold watched the pair. She felt rather out 
of it, for Judy had made it very plain that the invitation 


200 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


came from Van Began and that Tor}^ and Phipps were 
not included. 

“ What are you going as ? she asked. 

“ Ah, that’s our secret.” Isoel dimpled. 

“You’d make a charming Vivandiere!” Mrs. Sero- 
cold suggested. 

“ Wouldn’t she ? ” said Doran, smiling. “ In that case 
I should have to go ! ” He made up his mind suddenly, 
annoyed by Tory’s innuendo. “ If you’re sure that our 
host won’t object to my coming in ordinary evening dress 
and my disabilities as a dancer, you can count on me as a 
chaperon — or a wallflower, whichever you please ! ” 

Judy laughed. 

“ All the better ! It’ll give me a better chance.” 

Doran looked at her, perplexed. Then he grinned. 

“ Good old Judy ! I can guess. What a rag ! Swear 
you won’t trespass on my preserves ? ” 

“ Shan’t I ! You wait. Did you think I was going in 
a ball dress ? ” 

“ A ballet-dress, more likely.” 

Judy chuckled. 

“ As a fairy ! ” 

Mrs. Serocold looked at Phipps and then shrugged her 
plump shoulders. She moved to the front of the box and 
sat down determinedly in the centre seat. The young 
man followed. 

“ I gather that Miss Dalgleish is to wear doublet and 
hose,” he ventured. 

“ It’s not very nice,” said Tory softly. Their eyes 
met and Phipps nodded. “ I hope she won’t make our 
friend jealous.” There was venom underlying the speech. 
“ These Suffragettes ! ” She gave a laugh, shrill but sub- 
dued, as she watched his face. 

“And what are zve to do on Friday?” Phipps sug- 
gested playfully. He mistrusted the trend of the con- 
versation. 

“ You’d better come and dine with me. I think I shall 
be off on Sunday. There’s nothing whatever to do here 
and I want to put in a week in Paris.” 

“You couldn’t make it Saturday? The journey I 
mean, not the dinner. I should love to come to that. 
I’ve got my marching orders too.” 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


201 


“No, really? Well, we’ll see.” She touched her lips, 
enjoining silence as the others rejoined them. It might 
be rather fun, she thought, to travel with him as an escort. 
She glanced up at Miss Dalgleish. “ Pve taken your seat. 
It’s only fair you should have the corner one this time. 
And I want to talk to Miss Dark, about — ” 

She stopped, rather suddenly, as her eyes fell upon 
the girl. She had removed her light coat and stood 
now in blouse and skirt. It was the former that 
riveted Tory Serocold’s attention. For the exact 
fellow to it lay on the top of her own trunk; a rather 
unusual crepe de Chine model purchased by her at Clo- 
tilde’s. 

There were the same original sleeves with the narrow 
piping at the shoulders and long tight cuffs tapering into 
frilled points over the hands. 

Even the colour had been copied, a pearly pink re- 
lieved at the throat by a broad band of black velvet, that 
sombre touch beloved by the French. 

Yet Clotilde had sworn it was a model direct from 
Doucet and had charged a price which upheld definitely 
the statement that it was unique. 

Could this apparently poor young person who stayed 
at a pension known to be cheap afford to dress at the great 
couturiere's? 

Impossible ! Under her lashes, delicately darkened, the 
lady stared and stared and marvelled. 

And then, in the midst of her annoyance, Judy supplied 
the missing link. For she called Isoel’s attention to some 
one in the crowd below, and used the girl’s Christian 
name, clearly and imperiously. 

Across Tory, like a flash, came the memory of Clo- 
tilcle’s voice, terminating the conversation which threat- 
ened to upset a client: I soel! That will do. You’re 
wanted in the fitting-room ! ” 

Isoel — the mannequin ! 

She choked down her scornful laughter. No wonder 
the face had been familiar. A shop-girl in this com- 
pany ! 

But how did she get there? Did Doran know? And 
Judith Dalgleish? Here she sniffed. A woman like 
that — so plainly eccentric! No doubt she had dreams 


202 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


of raising ” the masses, or was taken in by a pretty face. 
But Francis? Another matter. 

She recalled now his conversation at dinner concern- 
ing Rosalie. That, of course, was a blind ! This was the 
girl he was after. Or was he, in truth, ignorant? 

His voice cut across her thoughts : 

“Hope you’re not bored, Tory?” He had resumed 
his old seat and was bending forward in the gap. 

“ Not at all. Most interested.” Her tone was a 
trifle tart. 

“ I musn’t neglect her,” thought Doran and he started 
to make conversation until the curtain drew up again, 
when he drew a silent sigh of relief, fixing his eyes on 
the stage. 

In a little bower of twisted reeds the lovers lay close 
together, the absurd red wig on the villain’s shoulder, the 
horse cropping by the entrance. A full moon shone down 
on them and on the marsh that fringed their shelter, 
where reeds and bushes of tamarisk bordered a pool of 
shallow water. From this came a croaking chorus, 
“ Koax ! Koax ! ” and stealthy movements. 

Apparently the fugitives were snatching an hour of re- 
pose midway in their headlong flight. 

They looked so stiff and ridiculous, hands clasped, their 
stubby toes sticking out of the wiry grass at the entrance, 
that Isoel laughed outright. 

“ Aren’t they funny ? ” Doran agreed. “ What a trav- 
esty of love! But just look at the audience. There’s 
not a smile anywhere. They take I’ amove more seriously 
in this sunny land than we do.” 

“ You, you mean! I’m half of the South. Only my 
British side is ribald. And that red wig fascinates me, to 
say nothing of his moustache! But what’s this?” She 
leaned forward. 

For out crept, two by two, little figures from the rushes, 
clad in emerald-green tights, goggle-eyed and wide 
mouthed with spindle shanks and webbed feet. Frogs! 
A shining host of frogs. 

Music sounded, faint and muffled. Lifting their limbs 
in unison, linking their quaint mottled arms, they began 
to hop through the dance, and paused at the end of the 
first bars, jaws wide open : 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


203 


‘‘Koax! Koax!» 

“ The Grand Ballet/’ Doran explained. “ Don’t they 
do it rippingly ? ” 

For the frogs were off to a livelier measure and now, 
from the middle of the pond, rose with a jerk the pre- 
miere danseuse, in ballet skirts, and long pink legs like a 
coquettish baby ostrich. She tripped to the centre of the 
stage and began to rotate on the tips of her toes, arms 
above her flaxen wig, wreathed about with red roses. 

A shout of delight came from the stalls, for the 
wooden figure had sunk back over the arms of a stalwart 
frog, a pink leg high in the air, her blonde curls sweeping 
the boards. There followed a spirited pas de deux whilst 
the rest of the ballet posed round them, uttering their 
shrill croak and clapping their little claw-like hands. 
Gradually the stage darkened and now the eyes of all the 
dancers began to glow, like tiny lamps, with some phos- 
phorescent paint; the leading lady vanished from sight 
and the minor performers began to retreat on a slower 
measure, until, at length, nothing was visible but the 
reeds, dotted with rigid points of light. 

Then with a last : ‘‘ Koax ! Koax ! ” these went out 
and the moon rose on a deserted strip of marsh; the 
lovers awoke from their sleep and sat up rubbing their 
eyes. 

Even Mrs. Serocold joined in the hushed applause that 
followed this coup. For the sense of a dream had been 
achieved as skilfully as though the dancers had been in 
truth of flesh and blood. Here was an art that had 
reached its climax through centuries of loving toil. 

It’s wonderful.” Isod sighed. 

Artists — to their finger-tips ! ” Doran was enthus- 
iastic. “ Ages ago, I believe, the puppet shows were 
run by the monks for miracle plays, to teach the people. 
The original Punch and Judy show is supposed to come 
from one of these ; a mystery play : Pontius cum Judaeis * 
— Pontius Pilate and the Jews. Hence the name, sorne- 
what perverted. I suppose they gave Pilate a hump with 
the Roman’s horror of any deformity.” 

“ Really ? ” Isoel drank it in. “ But it doesn’t ex- 
plain what puzzles me — how they work all those figures 
at once ? ” 


204 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


‘‘ No, that's an actual science. I went behind the 
scenes one night with my father when I was a boy. It 
was enough to make one dizzy, all those scores of fine 
wires. They watch the result by means of mirrors but 
I really believp they could do it blindfold. It’s in their 
blood; they’re born to it, like the glass artists at Murano.” 

He paused, as a heavy stamping of feet announced the 
fall of the curtain. 

Isoel did not join in, though the others clapped heartily. 
Her thoughts had gone back to that miracle-play in the 
early days of the church. 

“ Tired ? ” Doran’s voice was tender. 

‘‘ No ! I could stay here forever.” 

“ So could I.” The words slipped out. 

‘‘ But what about the war ? ” she asked. 

‘‘ Ah, I’d forgotten that ! ” The cloud settled down 
again over his keen and powerful face. 

If it were only the war, he thought, there might remain 
a thread of hope. He felt recklessly inclined to banish 
his doubts, forget to-morrow — above all, yesterday! 
— and satisfy his hungry heart. 

Her next words strengthened the longing. 

I shall hate to think of you out there.” 

Shall you ? ” His voice was hoarse. 

“ You know I shall,” she answered simply. 

“ You’ll write to me? ” 

She nodded her head. She was acting a studied part 
no longer, for something of the terror of war had moved 
her vivid imagination. 

I’ll do more for you than that 1 ” 

What ? ” He was gripping the back of her chair with 
sudden force at her strange words. 

“ Make munitions for you,” she whispered. 

“You dear!'' He choked on the loving word. 

Isoel, for the moment, meant it. She was fired by the 
notion of active help. 

She could not unconsciously have used a better means 
of winning him. For he knew the terrible needs of the 
hour and the fine part that the women at home were play- 
ing in the giant struggle. 

“ I’ll never doubt her again,” he thought. “ This set- 
tles it. I’ll marry her.” 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


205 

The cool voice of his other neighbour fell on his 
ardour like a shower bath. 

“ You’re not to monopolize Miss Dark ! I haven’t had 
a word with her.” 

He stood up and squared his shoulders. 

“ Sorry, Tory. My fault! We were deep in a ques- 
tion of the war. Miss Dark, when she gets back to Lon- 
don is going to make shells for us.” 

He spoke at random to hide his feelings. 

“ Sea shells ? ” asked Tory lightly. She pointed to the 
green necklace. 

Her careless laugh jarred on him. 

“No, not those butterfly things. Real work; work 
that lasts.” 

“ But they don’t last! ” Tory pouted. “ They go off 
with a bang ! I know of course that work’s the fashion. 
Women at home are mad about it. When they’re not 
clever enough to nurse or to sing to the wounded soldiers, 
or even to sew on their own buttons, they all become 
skilled mechanics. It won’t last ! ” She laughed again. 
“ Although the pay is a compensation ! ” 

She was studying the famous blouse. Of course the girl 
had copied hers. The buttons, she noticed, were different, 

IsoH caught her roving glance. 

“ You must forgive my staring at you,” said Tory 
very sweetly. “ But I never saw such a divvy blouse ! 
Surely it must be one of Clotilde’s.” Her hazel eyes were 
malicious. 

Doran felt his nerves tighten. What did she mean? 
Had she guessed — or known this all along ? 

Then he heard IsoH’s voice with her foreign accent 
Very pronounced. 

“No. I made zis one myself.” As ever in her moods 
of excitement she lisped over the “ th.” 

“ How clever of you,” Mrs. Serocold purred. “ You 
must have had lessons in dressmaking ? ” 

“ I’m afraid it hardly warrants that.” After the first 
deadly shock, all her courage had risen to meet it. She 
turned a perfectly calm face on Mrs. Serocold and asked 
placidly : “ Who is Clotilde ? ” 

Doran felt a sudden revulsion of feeling that left him 
shaken and sick. 


1206 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


In vain he tried to excuse this evasion by the girl’s 
natural instinct to hide her poverty from a woman like 
Tory. But it roused all his old speculations. Why was 
she so ashamed of her work? 

He waited, rigid, for Tory’s reply. 

“ Oh, don’t you know ? ” said that lady. “ She’s a very 
famous dressmaker. I go to her for all my frocks. She 
has the reputation, too, of having the prettiest mannequins 
of any house in the West End. But we mustn t let Mr. 
Doran hear us ! ” 

“ I think she would be too expensive for me.” Isoel’s 
lips were rather white but her dark eyes flashed as she 
added, “ I’ve a horror of getting into debt.” 

For with the instinct of self-preservation she used the 
first weapon to hand, remembering the big ledger and 
“ Monsieur ” conselling further credit. 

Tory started and glanced at Doran. He couldn’t have 
told her ? Impossible. The man’s face was like a mask ; 
he did not seem to be listening. 

But she changed her tactics, scenting trouble. “ Well, 
if you like pretty things, will you come and see some of 
mine? I bought a few on my way through Paris. Do 
come ! At four, to-morrow ? ” 

For a moment the girl hesitated, shrinking from the 
tete-d-tete. Then she saw it was wiser to go and know 
at least what lay before her. 

“ Thank you, I will. It’s very kind.” 

“ You don’t ask me,” said Doran lightly. But he knew 
he had made a foolish mistake in his sudden impulse of 
protection. 

Tory gave her shrill laugh. 

My dear Francis ! To see frillies? It’s very bad for 
the young idea. You’ll be going to Clotilde’s yourself 
next ! ” 

“ Too costly an amusement.” His smile was a shade 
sardonic. 

Tory resented the subtle thrust and raised malicious 
eyes to his. 

“ If might be. In the end ! With all those attractive 
young ladies.” Then she turned to the smiling Phipps. 
“ Now, you, I know, are a wise young man. And always 
* look before you leap.’ ” 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


207 


He was delighted by her praise. 

I look, and long — but my courage fails me ! 

Judy gave a little grunt. 

“ And live to fight another day ! ” she remarked to the 
world at large. 

Isoel stared straight ahead. Disaster had come, swift 
and sure. Was there no way out of it? 

There must be! She would fight to the last. Doran 
left her to her thoughts. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


N ^'EVER was morning so divine, sky so blue nor the 
lure of Venice so openly provocative as on the day 
of all days that breathed for IsoH the end. 

The end of sunshine and sweet laughter, of dreams that 
stood tiptoe to reach a golden reality ; the end of Love 
on his faery threshold, stretching out his arms to her. 

All night long she had tossed and wondered, asking her- 
self desperately how she could evade the truth, building 
up a screen of lies. But there were great rents in it that 
could not be drawn together. Mrs. Serocold held the 
facts. What use to prolong the struggle ? This woman 
she hated had but to write a single line to Clotilde and ask 
for IsoH’s antecedents to learn everything^ even to her 
connection with Lady Manister. 

Why had she not changed her name ? Here by an odd 
twist of pride she found herself hotly indignant. Deny 
her parentage? Mille fois, non! She owed to her father 
the first start in her triumphant social progress. He had 
brought her the Braces’ patronage and the open comrade- 
ship of Judy. 

Her cheeks flushed as she foresaw the gossip in the 
pension; Phipps passing the news round, the laughter 
of the Percivals. It would be impossible to stay there. 
But where could she go? And what was the use of lin- 
gering in this enchanted land since Doran was lost to her 
forever. 

Could she, dare she, admit the truth? That she had 
been a mannequin, driven to it by reduced means after 
the death of her parents, and so stop further inquiries? 

Then she remembered it was too late ! She had flatly 
denied all knowledge of Clotilde and that luxurious estab- 
lishment where Mrs. Serocold bought her gowns. 

“ Who is Clotilde ? ” The damning speech returned to 
her as she strode along trying to calm her rebellious nerves 
with the help of exercise. For Doran had heard her. 
She knew that. She had meant him to. In her despera- 

208 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


209 


tion she had realized that her enemy would hardly resort 
to open speech before the rest of the company. That 
was not Society’s way — her fine nostrils curled with 
scorn above the bitter young mouth — it preferred to 
strike in the dark and let scandal do the rest. 

She ought not to have gone to that play, knowing that 
Mrs. Serocold would be included in the party, but her 
earlier lack of recognition had lulled the girl into false 
safety. 

Well, it was no use looking back ! What remained out 
of the debacle? 

Sir Abel Groot? Suddenly she shivered in the bright 
sunshine. The coarse nature of the man under his veneer 
of wealth seemed more apparent now after mixing with 
better people. A vision of Doran rose up, clear-eyed and 
well bred, clean in his honour and unsoiled by the under- 
ground methods of finance. Then that ferrety insolent 
face with the eyes of stale experience. No, there must 
be an end of that; she stood to risk worse evils. 

Could she, dare she, admit the truth? That she had 
reached the lowest stage of despair, though it needed 
but a trifle to swing the pendulum back again. She had 
decided in the night that, in the event of Mrs. Sero- 
cold’s threatening her with instant exposure, she would 
go herself direct to Doran and see that her story 
reached him first. 

At least — the old habit was strong — a part of it, 
tinged with romance. No need to open out the life with 
Lady Manister and before. 

He might treat it as a joke? You never knew! Men 
were strange. Not so conventional as women where their 
affections were involved. In any case he could resent 
Tory’s mischievous intervention and that would be a point 
scored. 

She began to plan the interview. 

If Doran really, truly loved her, there was just a 
chance. She clung to this fugitive fragment of hope. 
She would never let him regret his choice ; she would be 
his slave, wax in his hands. It did not occur to her that 
this conduct was hardly the means of holding a husband, 
that a life without a shadow of conflict palls on the most 
devoted of men! 


210 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Yes, she would faithfully keep her vow. As she left 
the Merceria behind her and emerged from under the 
Clock Tower, she decided to visit again the shrine sacred 
to St. Isidore. But midway to St. Mark’s she swerved 
to the left, aware that Phipps was approaching from the 
Piazzetta, strolling along with a roving eye. She was not 
in the mood for his vapid chatter. He would flirt with 
her now but later on he would be the first to join the 
crowd that openly mocked the mannequin ! 

She pulled up in front of Cook’s. It reminded her of 
the letter from Anna. The clerk who had cashed her let- 
ter of credit handed it over without delay. But she did 
not open it at once. Retracing her steps, she passed the 
well where the pigeons were having their morning bath 
and entered the church by the side door with its Gothic 
arch and wealth of sculpture. Here all was peace and 
silence, save for the echo of shuffling feet and the thin 
dirge-like voice of a guide holding forth in the transept. 

It roused^nother memory; that first heavenly day of 
promise, with the golden horses pawing the air, the rush 
of wings above her head, and far away, a man’s figure, 
head bent over a book. 

Something tugged at her heart. He was dearer to her 
than she had guessed, this tall broad-shouldered English- 
man who had risked not only his life but his health fight- 
ing for her at the Front. 

Yes, for her! And for all women. To save them 
from those unspeakable acts of lust and cruelty that the 
Huns would bear forever stamped on their shield, and 
to save his country from going down under the heel of 
barbarians. 

She felt a sudden pride in him, more personal than ever 
before, as she moved on with her light step until she 
came to the tiny chapel. 

It was empty save for an old woman, placing fresh 
candles on the stand. IsoH bought the tallest one left 
in the scanty store. For yesterday had been a festa 
and the devout numerous. She watched the wick splut- 
ter up, then soar into a pale flame, and her prayer went 
with it as she knelt, half-hidden in the shadows. 

Like him of old she begged for a sign. But out of the 
dim vault above came no angel with a flaming torch and 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


21 1 ; 


no “ still, small voice.’^ Only the faint creak, creak of 
the woman’s shoes as she shuffled out with that peculiar 
step which seems to prevail in religious service. 

“ Mary — Mother, deign to listen ! ” IsoH’s shining 
head was bent, her slim hands folded tight. “ Listen to 
my humble prayer.” 

Outside in the sunshine, the pigeons fluttered round the 
window, little pink feet making a splash like blossom on 
the snowy marble ; wings rustling, eager-eyed, radiant 
with the joy of life. 

Within was the vast hollow space and the dust of the 
great apostle, with the hovering shadow of death and the 
faint lingering smell of incense. 

Isoel’s head sank lower. 

“ Pardon my sins and show me a way. Oh, Blessed 
Mother, give him me! I will be true and faithful and 
good, a wife after thy holy pattern, if Thou wilt grant 
my request. He loves me . . . and — ” She felt the 
blood pounding against her startled heart, and the know- 
ledge poured in on her. Her trembling hands fell from 
her face, her eyes widened. It had come! She knew, 
at last, that she loved Doran. 

Now — now of all moments ! When she stood on the 
brink of an endless parting. Why, it was losing the light 
of the world ; to go down into utter darkness. 

She raised her sombre eyes to the altar where St. 
Isidore, painfully, was being dragged to his martyrdom 
between the little bronze lions. 

Aftd suddenly rebellion seized her; her youth, crushed 
by a fugitive sorrow, rose aggressive in her heart, resent- 
ing the tragedies of religion. 

No help had been given to the martyr. There was 
no help I It was all in vain. For if the saints could not 
count upon heavenly intervention what would be the fate 
of sinners ? There was poor St. Isidore — she was vague 
about his history — but undoubtedly a holy man. Why 
this cruel punishment? She rose to her feet in the sud- 
den reaction from faith to a youthful scepticism. It was 
as though the scales had fallen from her eyes and she 
saw the brutal facts. 

With the movement a letter slipped from the folds of 
her coat where she had placed it when she knelt down 


212 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


to pray. It made a white patch on the pavement and she 
stopped quickly to pick it up. 

Anna? Clotilde? Was there by chance help here, 
from a worldly source? What if the house had failed in 
her absence, “Monsieur” interned with other Germans? 
How this would clear her path ! The wild fancy gathered 
strength as she moved out of the dark corner tearing open 
the envelope and looking round for a better light. 

Behind her the candle burnt on, the wax troubled by the 
draught, guttering down upon its spike. Its little hour 
of devotion had outlived that of the girl’s. For love in 
its first vivid flash had dimmed all else ruthlessly, and 
the pale flame of a mystic religion that she built on the 
sands of symbolism could not survive the sudden clear, 
heady gust of youthful passion. 

Life claimed her, not the death of desire that the 
priesthood preached ; though in God’s good time she would 
return to a deeper faith, a surer knowledge. 

Now, with nerves still quivering, head thrown back 
defiantly, she was drinking in Anna’s news, seeking for 
inspiration. 

It centred round Rosalie who had departed in disgrace. 
“Madame” had caught “Monsieur” out, cleverly, red- 
handed. Such a scene as there had been ! Monsieur was 
now very meek and Clotilde “ top-dog ” ! Anna was glad 
that the girl was gone — “Very unpleasant, the whole 
aflair ” — yet sorry for her in a “ sort of way.” “ Mon- 
sieur ” was just the kind of man tor“get a girl into 
trouble and leave her to find her way out.” Now of 
course they were short-handed and although they had 
advertised freely no one suitable appeared. So many 
trades were open to girls with a higher remuneration. 
Anna declared that she knew “ for a fact ” that Clotilde 
“ missed ” IsoH, and would take her back any day. She 
advised her to ask for better terms. 

“Do think it over, dear,” [she wrote in her pretty hand]. “It 
would be just like old times and Delphine suggested my letting 
you know as we like to keep the place select and you were always 
a credit to it. Better strike while the iron’s hot! Madame’s in 
a good temper. She’s just been paid a big account which she’d 
put down as a bad debt. I expect you remember the fair lady? 
Very smart. She ordered a dress from your putty model in the 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


213 


Winter. Mrs. Serocold’s the name. The cheque came from 
Venice too! A funny thing, as you’re there. Perhaps you lent 
her the money III !! I! ” 


Isoel paused, but she did not smile. Her fine eyebrows 
came together. 

Venice? ” And then, lent her the money ”? Was 
this why Tory had glanced at Doran when Phipps was 
babbling about his debts ? The thought was a revelation. 

She had got the money out of him I 

The girl’s face grew white with anger. She was sure 
of it. Those long suede gloves forgotten in his sitting- 
room? She had dined then, with him alone? One 
doesn’t transact that sort of business with other people 
looking on 1 

Isoel stamped her pretty foot, stung by a dart of jeal- 
ousy, which oddly enough recoiled from the man but cried 
for vengeance on the woman. 

And now she’d like to ruin me.” 

She turned instinctively to the door out of the chill of 
that sacred place and paused in the portico to scan the 
Piazza before she emerged. 

“ I’m going to have a gondola and think this out,” she 
decided. Unfurling her green parasol she screened her 
excited face with it, mindful of Phipps’s proximity and 
hurried down towards the columns. 

Once out on the dazzling water she leaned back and 
gave herself up to a clear review of the position, re- 
calling every tiny scrap of conversation concerning the 
lady. 

Felix? That must be the husband. She remembered 
Doran’s little joke. How would “ Felix ” appreciate the 
fact of his wife’s bills being paid by another man? Her 
lips curled. 

Ah ! She held the key-stone now to her perilous castle 
in the air. 

“I’ve got you, milady!” She hugged herself. “If 
you ruin me, I can ruin you. But I think the threat will 
be sufficient.” Her face, warmed by a glow of malice, 
was so vivid that a man turned for another long look at 
her as their gondolas met and drifted asunder. 

Isoel froze him with a glance. The man, who was on 
his honeymoon, told his wife that it was an actress. 


214 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


“ Seen her somewhere, on a postcard.’^ 

“ I thought she was painted,” said the bride. And, of 
course, that hair — ! ” 

He squeezed her hand. A little bored by propinquity 
that left him no leisure to himself, he was now comforted 
by the thought that his new possession showed tact. 

“ Not my style,” he said with a laugh. 

Isoel, unaware of the interest she had evoked, drifted 
down the Grand Canal, planning out the coming battle. 

Meanwhile Doran was striding along the empty shore of 
the Lido far from the gay crowd of tourists, a party of 
whom, recklessly, was indulging in a first bathe, tempted 
by the sunshine above which had warmed the surface of 
the water. 

He had no doubt in his own mind that Tory was pos- 
sessed of the truth. He had been a fool to bring them 
together and precipitate this exposure. 

But why, oh why, had the girl lied? What secret lay 
behind the story of her life at Clotilde’s ? His heart was 
sore. 

He pictured the meeting this afternoon and shrank from 
the ordeal before her. 

Tory could be very cruel. She would play with her 
prey like a cat with a mouse. 

He swished off the head of a tall thistle that grew on 
the edge of the sandy ridge with his walking-stick vi- 
ciously. He had not forgotten his own dismissal years 
ago, though kindly Time — and the fact that his passion 
for her was dead — had induced a careless indifference. 
Now his tolerant affection was changed to a feeling of 
enmity. 

How could he foil her odious purpose? Should he go 
straightway to her and admit that he knew all the facts 
of the case ? 

But then she might use it to wound the girl still more 
subtly. Doran cursed 1 

He could well imagine Tory’s smile, her pert nose in 
the air, as she pointed out to Isoel that he had been 
only amusing himself, considered a mannequin fair 
sport. 

No, he had better hold his tongue and wait results. If 
only the girl would come to him in her trouble and give 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


215 

him her confidence in full, instead of screening herself be- 
hind this endless prevarication. 

He hated lies. They filled him with the utter contempt 
of a strong man who, with all his faults, rates honour at 
its true worth and deems deceit the last resort of the 
coward. Brave she was in so many ways, why could she 
not be brave in the truth? 

And a wife who evaded a straight question and was 
wrapped round with mystery? It was too horrible to 
imagine. 

“ There’s only one course for you, old man,” he told 
himself as he strode along. “ And that’s to get back to 
work again and put the girl out of your head.” 

But his reason could not altogether still the pleading 
of his heart. 

Supposing IsoH came to him, her hand forced by the 
enemy, and that he found that her old life hid nothing 
more serious than poverty ; that her statement concerning 
her dead father was based on fact, and that her conduct 
throughout had been guided by false pride, how then 
should he act? 

He stopped dead and stared at the sea. 

For a point remained, unsatisfied. If she were so poor 
as this implied and forced to earn her own living by ex- 
ploiting that beautiful figure of hers — Doran winced at 
the thought — how came it that she could afford the long 
visit to Italy? 

The fare alone was no trifle and she did not seem 
pressed for money. 

Who paid ? 

Doran’s mouth set in a hard cynical line. 

“ I give it up ! ” 

Straining his eyes he saw on the far horizon three grey 
slits in the sky ; so it looked at the first glance. It was a 
line of battle-ships. 

War! Thank God there was always the war. 

He sat down on the sandy bank and watched their 
apparently slow progress ; for the distance was very great, 
wondering whither they were bound. 

Italy was coming in; there were signs in the sky for 
those who read. Italy, with her straight-limbed men, wiry 
and agile, already hardened by the long campaign in Tri- 


2i6 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


poli. Above all with her mighty heart, throbbing with 
the old note : hatred of the Austrian. 

The great Garibaldi celebration was to be at Quarto in 
a fortnight and the King was going in full state. 
D’Annunzio, the poet-patriot, was to read an ode on 
Liberty. What a moment it would be to strike for a 
Greater Italy, the stolen provinces restored, a firmer grip 
on the Adriatic ! 

Doran prayed that it might happen. He loved the land 
of his birth, which has had a peculiar fascination for all 
great Englishmen in the past. For in Italy, as once in 
Greece, a spirit of freedom untainted bv the commercial- 
ism of modern life persists and is kept pure and strong in 
the hearts of its poorest peasantry. 

The soldier’s mind went slowly back through the events 
of the past year. He saw Belgium blotted out, Serbia 
and Montenegro, the Armenian race crucified, war 
stripped of its code of honour, and lust rampant on the 
earth. Saw, too, the great neutrals still blind to the real 
issue, even the greatest whose harbour bore the mighty 
statue of Liberty. But the day would come, he was con- 
vinced, when Germany with her megalomania would over- 
reach herself and dare to infringe the rights of the 
lookers-on. Then, with war at her very gates, the New 
World would awake to a clarity of spiritual vision, aware 
at last that the vast struggle of Britain and her great 
Allies was no selfish battle for gain, but a figtit for the 
freedom of mankind against an iron tyranny. 

For he held the faith that all Christian races met in 
agreement on one point: the abolition of slavery. And 
this was what Prussianism aimed at with her supermen 
and superweapons : to place the whole world in fetters and 
enforce the doctrine that “ might is right.” 

Doran’s thoughts came back to England, awake at last, 
though none too soon. In his morning’s paper he had 
read the Premier’s speech at Newcastle, and how, with 
a soothing note he denied the lack of munitions at the 
Front, but called upon the people at home for further and 
better efforts. 

The soldier smiled bitterly. 

This smoothing down of drastic facts did not appeal 
to the man who had watched that worst of all modern de- 


THE VISION SPLENDID 217 

feats ; an army shedding its gallant blood in a resistance 
rendered futile by the hourly hunger of its guns. 

The grey ships of war vanished and a pleasure steamer 
came churning along, leaving a comet-like tail of foam. 
Boats with red and yellow sails dipped in its swell like 
butterflies fluttering on to an azure flower, while gondolas, 
those moths of the night, with silver antennae, felt their 
way between the children of the sunshine. 

But Doran gazed with blind eyes. He was back in the 
din and smoke of battle, smothered in mud, wet to the 
bone, parched, aching, yet oddly content. He dreamed on, 
his eyes half-closed whilst the sun beat down upon his 
shoulders, penetrating his flannel suit and slowly blister- 
ing his hands. 

A mosquito settled on his wrist and he brushed it off 
impatiently. Then as his eyes fell on the scars he gave 
a sudden joyous laugh. He would bear those to the day 
of his death. 

War had prevailed over love. 


CHAPTER XIX 


I SOEL was shown up into an empty sitting-room. 

It faced on a side canal, but a ray of sunshine 
drifted in obliquely and lit up the writing-table with 
Tory's pale mauve paper, stamped with a dainty mono- 
gram, and the lizard-skin attache-case with its gilded lock 
and tiny key. 

A pair of soft rose-coloured cushions warmed the faded 
hotel sofa and the mantelpiece was gay with flowers 
and a number of unframed photographs. For Mrs. Sero- 
cold travelled in comfort and carried sufficient knick- 
knacks about to invest the rooms in which she stayed with 
her own home atmosphere. 

Some French illustrated papers — of the class that 
prefers beauty unadorned — selected in Paris, together 
with a couple of crumpled yellow-backs, lay on the centre 
table beside a siphon and used glass and an ash-tray in 
the shape of a dolphin with an iridescent shell in its 
mouth. This was half full of cigarette ends. 

Isoel noted the fact. Had Phipps been there that 
afternoon? Or Doran? The thought was disturbing. 
Then she remembered that the latter had mentioned to 
Judy that he was off next morning for a day at Padua. 
She drew a deep breath of relief. 

A pair of long suede gloves had been tossed on the top 
of a blue sunshade near the incriminating tumbler. Cau- 
tiously Isoel stooped and examined the mark inside of the 
maker’s name and her face cleared. Another link in her 
evidence. For her plans were carefully mapped out, 
down to the slightest detail. Yet success hung upon a 
thread, on the truth of her wild surmise. 

Had Doran lent the money? 

She moved across to the mantelpiece and studied the 
various photographs. They were of men, with one ex- 
ception: a pretty girl in a court gown which seemed all 
train and bouquet, and dwarfed her height despite her 
head-dress. The picture was signed : “To Torv, from 
Babs.” ^ 


218 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


219 


Beside it a bright boy’s face laughed at the world, his 
trim figure, closely knit, in khaki. “ Arthur ” was 
scrawled across the corner. 

Next came a square-headed man, with a square chin 
and such square shoulders that they stood out in little 
shelves above his arms and swelling chest. He had an 
expression which seemed to say : “ I’ve arrived. Eng- 

lish papers, note ! ” 

To make the fact still more potent he had written with 
a fine flourish : “ Cordially, Reginald P. Sprottheimer.” 

A German screening himself behind the stars and 
stripes,” thought Isoel. “ I expect he’s paying his footing 
in England and the fair lady finds him useful.” 

Overlapping this prosperous person was a still larger 
sepia print of a languid young man in an oak chair, lean- 
ing his brow upon his hand. 

This was : “ Cossie ” — “ eternally ” hers ! 

“ Not the sort of individual I should care to meet in the 
hereafter,” the girl decided; then moved back quickly as 
she heard Mrs. Serocold’s voice raised in the adjoining 
room. 

The door opened. In she swept, in a wonderful ‘‘ rest- 
gown ” of “ nigger ” brocade which showed an under- 
skirt of lace in some sort of tinsel and wing-like sleeves; 
the effect not unlike a mandarin’s coat, though cunningly 
clipped to her full figure. 

Her plump arms were bare to the elbow, her little hands 
glittered with rings; her shoes of the same dull brocade 
were ornamented by paste buckles and about her was the 
proud air of a lady fresh from the hands of her maid and 
aware of her own dainty perfection. 

“ Ah, how-d’ye-do ? ” 

She advanced, smiling, malice visible in her eyes, and 
they shook hands warily like a pair of boxers before a 
fight summing up each other’s points. 

isoel looked cool and assured, a fact which annoyed 
her adversary; for this rather magnificent reception had 
roused the girl’s sense of humour. 

“ And this is one of the pretty frocks? ” she asked with 
a gay laugh. “ I must have a good look at it.” 

To Mrs. Serocold’s surprise she found herself in the 


220 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


position of a mannequin before a client. IsoH was walk- 
ing round her. 

How sweet of you to put it on.” She had secured the 
first advantage and meant to use it cleverly to ruffle her 
adversary’s temper. “The front’s charming! Fm not 
sure I quite like the back so much. This pleat here — ” 
she touched it lightly — “ isn’t it a shade too narrow ? I 
mean for your hips. It widens them. But I’m sure 
Clorinda could alter it? Wasn’t that your dressmaker’s 
name ? ” 

“ No. Clotilde.” The words came out with an 
ominous snap as the lady wheeled round controlling her- 
self with an effort. “Won’t you sit down, Miss Dark? 
There’s something I want to say to you.” 

“ Thanks.” With a graceful movement the girl set- 
tled herself on the sofa, her slender feet lightly crossed 
in their immaculate buckled shoes. “ But I hope you’ve 
not forgotten your promise to show me all your pretty 
frillies ? ” 

“ I’ve forgotten nothing.” Tory stood with her back to 
the table, her chin tilted. “ I’ve a better memory than you 

— apparently I ” Her voice was acid. 

Isoel laughed. 

“ I daresay. It’s not one of my strongest points.” 

“ For instance,” Mrs. Serocold stroked down the soft 
folds of brocade and patted a little knot of flowers in the 
tinsel belt lovingly, “ I should have thought this very gown 
would awaken certain memories ? ” 

“ Why ? ” Isoel’s brows went up with a supercilious 
amusement. “Was it perhaps at some Exhibition? I 
seem to have heard of one lately. ‘ Clothes for War-time ’ 

— that was it! ” She went on, rather quickly. “To tell 
you the truth, Mrs. Serocold, I’m not really fond of tea- 
gowns. I suppose I shall come to them, in time, but 
they’re hardly suitable for a girl.” 

“ I agree with you,” said Tory tartly. “ And in any 
case I’m quite sure they’re most unsuitable for you/' 

She was furious at the clever way Isoel had compared 
their ages. She was only clever herself when she kept 
a firm hold on her captious temper. She suffered from 
the hysteria — so common before the war — induced by a 
subtle use of drugs and a never-ending search for excite- 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


221 


merit. Between her days of feverish pleasure she had 
many an interval of prostration, when she lay in a dark- 
ened room, a nervous wreck, dissolved in tears. 

She was threatened by an attack now and her restless, 
fluttering hands betrayed her. Isoel recognized the signs 
and, merciless, applied the goad. 

“'Still, you mustn’t think I don’t admire the one you’ve 
on,” she said sweetly, ignoring the last remark. “ I think 
it’s perfectly lovely for you. The long lines add to your 
height and then lace is always softening. Just the thing 
to slip into when you feel, perhaps, not quite your best. 
I remember my mother used to say that a tea-gown was 
a matron’s refuge.” 

Tory winced. 

“Your mother from Nice?” There was no mistak- 
ing her meaning now. “You see I remember our con- 
versation at Clotilde’s — every word of it ! ” 

“ I think you’re mistaken.” Isoel’s eyes met the angry 
hazel ones. “ I’ve met your husband, I believe. But 
I’m quite sure you weren’t with him. Besides I don’t 
know Clotilde.” 

Tory’s face was a study. 

“Felix? It’s impossible ! ” 

“ Is it ? ” Isoel laughed back. “ But London’s a very 
small place. One’s always running across people — of 
all sorts, hien entendu! He’s older than you, isn’t he? 
Of course it’s difficult to judge.” 

Tory had reached the end of her patience. 

“ Rubbish ! ” she said very rudely. “ You’ve never 
met him. It’s a lie.” 

“ Really, Mrs. Serocold ! ” IsoH’s proud head went up 
on the slim but rounded neck. “ I must ask you to ex- 
plain that.” 

“ Certainly.” The lady sneered. “ He never runs 
about with shop-girls.” 

She looked to see her victim crushed, but to her fury 
and amazement the girl laughed. Clear and youthful her 
voice rang through the high room. 

“ You’re too funny ! Do explain. Of course I quite 
see the joke. Poor dear Mr. Serocold! ” 

This side thrust at her solemn partner, which was 
shrewder than Isoel even guessed, stung his wife beyond 


222 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


endurance. She took a quick step forward, quivering 
with hysterical anger. 

“ Take care, Miss Dark! You may be clever in your 
way — it’s the stock-in-trade of adventuresses — but 
you’re playing a very dangerous game. I know who you 
are and the sort of life Clotilde’s girls all lead and I’m 
not going to stand quietly by and see you impose on my 
friends.” 

“ I think you’re mad,” said IsoH slowly. “ But that 
can pass, for the moment. What do you propose to do ? ” 
She shrugged her shoulders as though in advance she min- 
imized her enemy’s power. 

“Do? I shall go to Francis Doran and give him the 
facts of the case.” 

“ He zvill be pleased.” IsoH smiled. “ He’s the sort 
of man to revel in gossip ! ” Her irony was obvious. 
“ I’d advise you instead to go to Phipps. He’d believe 
anything you say — on the chance of a dinner ! ” Her 
lips curled. “ He’s an economical young man. But as 
to Francis — ” She paused on the name. “ You might 
have cause to regret it.” 

“ Should I!” Tory shrilled. 

“ Yes. It’s never wise to kill the goose that lays the 
golden eggs.” 

Mrs. Serocold recoiled. She gave the girl a venomous 
look in which was the shadowy presence of fear, coughed, 
hunted in her bosom and produced an absurd little hand- 
kerchief embroidered with a dog’s head. 

She drew it quickly across her lips, thinking hard. 
Then she brazened it out. 

“ You talk in riddles! I shall do precisely what I said 
before. And also warn Miss Dalgleish.” 

“ I’d like to hear you ! ” IsoH laughed. For she had 
seen Mrs. Serocold’s start. “ I’m sure she’d be very flat- 
tered by your kindly interest in her affairs. Don’t you 
think that in both cases they’re old enough to choose their 
friends?” 

“ Oh, as to your Miss Dalgleish,” Tory’s voice was 
very nasty, “ I wouldn’t give that for her morals ! But 
with Francis it’s another matter. Men are more easily 
taken in. And he’d listen to me — ” She paused and 
added with the intention of wounding the girl, “ I sup- 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


223 


pose since you’re so intimate he’s told you that he and I 
were engaged some years before I married my husband? 
So our friendship stands on no new footing.” She 
gave her shrill little laugh. 

This was news to Isoel. She felt a sudden accession of 
anger with a sharp pang of jealousy, but she kept herself 
well in hand. 

That’s rather unusual, isn’t it ? Cause and eifect.” 
Her voice shook with inward mirth as she added, “ You 
must have a very forgiving nature.” 

The inference could not be ignored. Mrs. Serocold 
hastily, with a slight loss of dignity, explained that the 
match had been broken off by her parents through Doran’s 
barren prospects. 

''Tiens!*' Isoel’s eyes sparkled. How you must 
have regretted it since! It seems hard to have thrown 
away love for money and then to discover that you might 
have captured both together. Perhaps it makes you a 
little bitter ? ” Her manner changed, menacing. “ Still 
it’s no excuse for insulting me.” 

Tory, who was a coward at heart, shrank back. Then 
she recovered her presence of mind. 

“You deserve every word I’ve said!” She flounced 
down on the nearest chair, weary of her earlier pose and 
feeling the need of support. “ You’ve no business to 
come here and hide what you are and set your cap at 
every decent man you meet. Yes, that’s the truth and 
you know it ! She was getting hysterical again, wound 
up by her own words. “ I shall write privately to Clo- 
tilde and ask her to tell me all she knows. Then I shall 
take the letter to Francis and that will end the whole 
matter.” 

“ Oh, no, it won’t,” said Isoel boldly. “ It will only 
be the beginning of trouble. For I shall go and see your 
husband and say that you take money from men.” 

Tory gasped. 

“ You daren’t ! ” she cried. “ And I’ll never believe 
that Francis — ” She stopped and tried to retrieve the 
damning slip. “ It isn’t true and you can’t prove it ! ” 

Isoel leaned forward. Her eyes, narrowed between 
her lids, shone like brown onyxes. The whole face was 


224 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Eastern now, in its passion and its cruelty. But she 
still smiled, with scornful lips. 

“ I can prove you dined with him alone, and spent the 
evening in his rooms. And that Clotilde’s account was 
paid within three days of that event. And if your hus- 
band asks for your pass book or makes inquiries at the 
bank he will find a cheque big enough to convince him of 
the truth. A cheque signed and endorsed by yourself. 
No denial will cover this ! ’’ 

It was a magnificent piece of bluff and she carried it 
through without a quiver. She was fighting for more 
than ambition, her fine wits sharpened by love. 

“ But it’s blackmail ! ” Tory screamed. 

“ I am only using your own weapon.” 

An ominous silence fell between them. 

The older woman shook in her shoes, aware of more 
than the younger guessed; the fraud practised on her 
husband and his jealousy of Francis Doran. 

For the fact of that earlier engagement had always 
rankled in his mind. Erroneously he placed the man as 
the danger point in his wife’s flirtations. 

Her hands went up to the rope of pearls wound twice 
about her throat as though they were throttling her; 
colour came out on her face in patches. Yet she strove 
desperately for calm. This must be stopped at all haz- 
ards. What were Doran’s love affairs in proportion to 
her own danger? Let the silly fellow go. 

Thus her thoughts whirled on to the throb, throb, of 
her tight pulse. A drum was beating in her head. An- 
other moment and she would scream. 

But Isoel broke the strain. 

Don’t you think, Mrs. Serocold, we might end this 
unpleasant scene? To begin with, the trouble is based 
upon an absurd mistake of yours. Some fancied resem- 
blance between myself and a young person at Clotilde’s.” 
She said this with a lofty indifference. Then as Tory 
glanced up with a flicker of hope in her sullen anger, 
Isoel’s voice grew stronger, with a “ social ” inflexion, 
extremely well done. “ It’s not very flattering to me, for 
although I’m not inclined to boast about my people at 
this juncture my father was in the English Navy and 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


^25 


came of a good old family. Pm poor and I’m not 
ashamed of it but from an actual point of birth I consider 
myself quite your equal. And I shouldn’t like to play 
the part proposed unless you force me to it. 

“ I am even willing to admit that I, too, may be mis- 
taken. Though this gave me food for thought.” She 
drew out from her little bag a crumpled glove in pale 
grey suede and smoothed it pensively where it lay, still 
stained with sand, on her knee. “It’s yours, isn’t it?” 
she asked. Then with a mischievous friendliness, “ You 
really shouldn’t leave traces behind you ! ” 

Tory was on the verge of collapse. She would have 
given her soul away for a good strong brandy and soda or 
one of those useful little tablets she was wont to allude 
to as “ Saccharine.” 

“ Where did you find it ? ” she asked unwisely. Then 
with a desperate touch of malice, “ And what were you 
doing there yourself ? ” 

“ Where?'' asked IsoH swiftly, and laughed. 

She put her useful witness away and leaned easily back 
on the sofa. “ Well — is it peace or war ? ” 

Tory was rolling her handkerchief feverishly between 
her fingers and she paused for a moment to straighten out 
the corner where the dog’s head, with its snub nose and 
bulgy eyes, added the latest chic effect. 

Her absent solicitude brought a touch of burlesque into 
the play. Isoel began to shake with an inward mirth 
mixed with relief. 

“ Your Pekingese? ” She choked on the word. 

Tory looked up helplessly. 

“ Yes. ‘ Miko.’ ” Her eyes were strained. She col- 
lected her thoughts with an effort. * “ Well, Miss Dark, 
I’ve heard your story and — parts of it may be true.” 
She stopped to moisten her parched lips. “ I don’t wish 
to be too hard or to get mixed up in this affair. It’s most 
unpleasant and — and — ” She hunted in vain for the 
missing word and wound up weakly, “ and all that ! If, 
as you say, you have nice people one naturally feels some 
reluctance in spreading gossip about a girl so young as 
yourself. Though, I think,” she added, with a faint, 
flickering revival of spirit, “ that you’re able to protect 
yourself ! ” 


226 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Quite,” said Isoel very distinctly. 

Mrs. Serocold’s lips quivered. She went on rather 
hastily. “ Your father, you say, is in the Navy, and of 
course now — ” for the first time she blessed the war — 
“ we are all of us more than grateful to our fleet. A 
sailor’s daughter — ” her voice ran down and stopped like 
a clock left unwound. 

Isoel helped her out. 

“ So it’s peace ? I’m very glad to hear it. There’s no 
need to explain further. So long as you yourself are con- 
vinced about — well, my double at Clotildes , — and my 
good friends remain unchanged in their kindly attitude 
to myself I shall certainly not presume upon my slight 
acquaintance with your husband. That sums it up, I 
think.” 

“ Y-es,” Tory was forced to respond. 

Isoel thought for a moment and then lifted her sombre 
eyes. 

There’s one thing more I should like to say. Mr. 
Doran has never breathed a single word about that cheque 
— the one we’ve arranged to forget. I found it out by an 
accident.” 

Into Tory’s blank face came a flicker of curiosity. In- 
trigue was the life of her soul and it acted now like a 
tonic. IsoH divined her thought. 

“ No,” she said, “ I didn’t guess it. I held the proof in 
another way.” She was thinking of Anna’s helpful let- 
ter. 

“Ah!” Mrs. Serocold started, almost joyously. 
“ Blotting-paper! ” 

For a moment the girl stared at her, bewildered in turn, 
then she let fall a shocked : 

“ Mon Dieti I ” 

The next her laughter pealed forth. This was the 
limit. What a woman ! 

After a faint hesitation, Mrs. Serocold joined in. 

“ I’m cleverer than you think, you see ! ” She was 
pleased with her perspicacity. It restored in a measure 
her self-respect. Then her eyes clouded again. “ I often 
wonder,” she said vaguely, “ if the old method wasn’t the 
best. Sand, you know ! I’ve a curio that belonged to a 
wicked old French marquise. Cossie brought it me from 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


227 


Tours. IPs in a little writing-set — so pretty — ” Her 
voice faltered and she pressed a hand to her throbbing 
head. 

Isoel felt suddenly sorry. The foe was not worthy of 
her steel. She stood up and pulled down her coat. 

“ Pm afraid you’re tired,” she said gravely. 

At that ominous word which always brought to the 
lady’s mind a subtle reflection on her appearance, she 
stirred herself. 

“ Oh, dear no,” she spoke brightly. Though I’m glad 
our little talk’s over. I think we understand things bet- 
ter.” But she rose to her feet uncertainly. 

‘‘ I think so.” IsoH nodded. She made a movement 
towards the door. 

Mrs. Serocold held out her hand. 

“ You won’t stay for a cup of tea? ” She had resumed 
her society manner. “ It’s shockingly bad in this hotel, 
but still — ” she gave her shrill laugh, “ I included it in my 
invitation ! ” 

“ No, thanks.” Isoel touched the other’s fingers with 
her own. The contact gave her a faint repugnance de- 
spite the prickings of her conscience. But she played the 
part allotted her. “ Not even to see your pretty frillies ! ” 

Mrs. Serocold was gracious. 

‘‘ I expect you’ve plenty of your own.” 

And with this the pair parted. 

All the way home, as the gondola rocked down the 
Grand Canal in the evening light, Isoel tasted to the full 
the bitter-sweet of a victory gained by means more foul 
than fair. 

She tried to rally her drooping spirits. 

“But I’ve wonf' she cried to the sunset sky that 
flushed the angels of the Salute. “ I’m safe again. I 
ought to be happy.” 

Between the white palaces and her inner vision a face 
rose up with dark brows and keen grey eyes that searched 
her soul to its inmost depths : the face of Doran, the man 
she loved, who believed in her — or so she thought. 

“And why not?” she cried hotly, her dry hands 
clasped together, eyes bright with a touch of fever. 

But she did not try to answer the question. 


CHAPTER XX 


D oran arrived before the others at Van Degan^s 
house on Friday night. 

He took to his host from the first glance at his 
bony, nervous but clever face, with its Vandyke beard, 
turning grey, and steady eyes of a deep slate blue. He 
was dressed in a Quattrocento costume as “ II Moro ” 
and the gold tunic suited the spare lines of his body, 
whilst the short coat of sable velvet with its opulent lin- 
ing of purple silk added an air of dignity suggestive of 
the greatest “ Sforza.” 

‘‘ I’m proud to meet you, Mr. Doran. I remember your 
father, years ago, and you bear a strong resemblance to 
him if you’ll permit me to say so. A fine artist and a 
man typical of the best in your race — ” He added, very 
courteously, which is showing its worth in this war.” 
The generous tribute pleased Doran. 

“ Thank you ! It’s good of you to ask me. But I 
hope that Miss Dalgleish explained that I’m no use in the 
dancing line? I feel I’m here under false colours.” 

“ She did.” Van Degan nodded gravely. It brought 
its own consolation. You’re the very man I’ve been 
looking for to stand by me in this fray. I’m referring to 
the supper department. You get me ? ” 

Doran laughed. 

“ I do. You can work me as hard as you like in that 
line, with elderly ladies claiming the chaperon’s reward. 
But please don’t introduce me to girls or they’ll turn me 
down in disgust.” He glanced round at the motley crowd 
in fancy dress which was shown off to advantage by the 
studio, a fine room with a polished floor. 

“ You’ve some wonderful costumes here to-night. May 
I ask what your own stands for? ” 

“ I’m a noble Duke,” Van Degan chuckled, “ who came, 
I guess, to a bad end.. One, Ludovico Sforza. You re- 
member the couplet sung about him when the King of 
228 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


229 

France took him prisoner? ^ Ora il Moro fa la danza!* 
That’s why it seemed appropriate.” 

Doran agreed. 

“ Excellent.” 

His host went on deliberately: 

As regards what you say concerning partners I’ve 
my own doubts. My young sister will certainly expect 
a dance. She’s set on meeting you. This stunt’s in her 
honour, since she joined me here last week.” He was 
peering about in the gay crowd. “ There she is ! See 
her costume? It’s copied from the famous picture 
ascribed at first to da Vinci, the beautiful ‘ Beatrice 
d’Este.’ At least that’s how it’s figured out on the 
postcard reproduction. But most of us now decide that 
it was a portrait of Biance Sforza done by a pupil of 
Leonardi’s. For mercy’s sake, don’t tell her so ! It 
would cast a blight on the evening.” 

“ Not I ! ” 

Doran smiled, watching the girl as she approached with 
her sumptuous gown, her auburn hair caught up in a 
jewelled net and secured -by a narrow golden fillet from 
which hung a pear-shaped pearl. It lay on her smooth 
young brow above a pair of sparkling eyes, which were 
turned now in his direction inquiringly. Van Degan 
called her. 

“ Nedda ! Here’s Mr. Doran.” 

My, that’s great ! ” The pretty girl pressed his hand 
in a warm clasp with fingers as small and soft as a child’s. 
She had the delicate grace and charm of a hot-house 
flower, subtly allied to the frank assurance, half-worldly, 
half-innocent, of American maidens. 

“ We’d been counting on having a British hero ! ” Her 
glance wandered over him and she pouted, dissatisfied. 
“ Don’t you always wear it ? ” Apparently she ignored 
the fact that he was in mufti and was searching for the 
famous medal. 

Doran stiffened involuntarily. Van Degan laid a warn- 
ing arm round his sister’s dimpled shoulder. 

“ Girlie, haven’t you learnt yet that an Englishman 
likes to hide his virtues. They’re the only thing he’s dead 
ashamed of ! ” 

“ Then I reckon he’s got no shame that counts!'' 


230 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


She said it so wickedly, with bold bright eyes on the 
man’s face, that he could not resist the laughing attack. 

“ Can you keep a secret ? ” His voice was mysterious. 

“ Sure ! ” She nodded, and raised herself up on the 
tips of her golden slippers. “ Whisper it ! ” 

Doran complied. He breathed into the pretty ear, but 
loud enough for Van Degan to catch. 

** I’ve pawned that cross. Don’t tell ! 

‘‘ Oh, you sport ! ” She clapped her hands, then as the 
men exchanged glances of amused intelligence. ‘‘ Did 
you think I believed you? ” she cried hotly. ‘‘ You can’t 
bluff ‘ Beatrice d’Este ’ ! ” 

This combination of modern slang and the name that 
lingers like an echo of past magnificence and beauty 
was quainter still for the way it fell delicately from her 
lips. 

Van Degan’s eyes rested on her with an open broth- 
erly admiration. 

'' Isn’t she the girl ? ” he laughed. ‘‘ I’ll have my hands 
full to-night. Excuse me a moment.” He strode off to 
greet an incoming flood of guests. 

Meanwhile “ Beatrice d’Este ” had turned, practical, to 
business. 

“ See here, Mr. Doran. Ten and sixteen? I’ve kept 
those for you.” She pointed out the pair of numbers on 
her card. They were marked “ V. C.” 

“ That’s very kind of you,” said the soldier and noted 
them down on his own programme. 

She gave him a dazzling smile. 

“ I’d like to tell you right away that I’m on your side, 
a pro-Ally. I’ve been making mitts and mufflers for you 
and I’ve driven Momma into joining a Belgian Relief 
Fund League. And Big Brother’s given us the cheque 
from his last picture. Some help, isn’t it?” 

Fine.” He said it heartily. 

“ That’s got me ! ” She made a childish grimace at 
him. “ I reckoned you’d say ‘ aw-fully nice ’ : And I 
just love the English accent ! Big Brother’s picking it up 
since he came to live in Europe. He asked me last 
night when I’d take my 'bawth'f Laugh,” — she pro- 
nounced it “ laff ” — “ I should think I did ! ” She 
danced with mischief. 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


231 

Doran smiled courteously. Then he remembered the 
booked numbers. 

“ Fve something serious to confess. I'm no good as a 
dancing man ! So perhaps — ” 

Still mocking, she caught him up : 

^ " Cawnt dawncef That’s sad ! Don’t say you cawnt 
sit out, or — ” She was off like a butterfly, crying back 
over her wing, " cawnt flirt ! ” 

“Try me!” laughed Doran. He was much amused 
at the encounter. 

^ Van Degan had made his way back, tossing introduc- 
tions gaily from group to group and words of chaff or 
admiration over the dresses according to the sex of the 
wearer, and now stood beside the soldier. 

“ Well ? Did Nedda let you off ? ” 

“ No. She’s been most generous. What’s become 
of Miss Dalgleish ? ” 

“ She’s here.” Van Degan reassured him. “ But she’s 
upstairs in my sister’s room getting fixed, with Miss 
Dark. I lent them the costumes for to-night. I’ve a 
regular wardrobe knocking about — a hobby of mine! 
Wherever I go I invest in the local dress. And they 
guessed they’d sooner effect the change here, away from 
their pension. Between ourselves, away from Miss Bella 
too! You’ll understand when you see them. Look out 
for something stunning ! ” He was off again to play the 
host. 

Doran, unwilling to be a tax on the busy man’s leisure 
moments, sauntered down to the end of the room where 
the musicians were tuning up, ready for the signal to 
start. 

He had spent two miserable days since his last meeting 
with Isoel; one of them at Padua and another, through 
sheer perversity, in the little town on its rocky perch they 
had discussed at the Lido. More than once he had made 
up his mind to cut the dance and return home, a week 
before the allotted time, but he found it hard to frame 
an excuse to Miss Dalgleish for a change of plans. More- 
over, another scruple held him. He wondered uneasily 
what had happened at the interview between Isoel and the 
astute Mrs. Serocold, who had given him no signs of 
life. 


232 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Powerless himself in the matter, he could only wait 
and pray devoutly that if grave trouble threatened the girl 
she would take him into her confidence. 

He knew he could close Tory’s mouth if it came to 
the worst. On the other hand he mistrusted his own 
powers of control vis-a-vis to Isoel. 

The thought of her in deep distress and of his own 
attitude — that of a friend and nothing more, for he 
still clung to his grave decision — presented a scene of so 
much strain that he shrank from the possibility. He was 
torn between the two desires. 

He leaned up against the wall, moody and unaware of 
side-long glances cast at him by pretty girls as they slipped 
past, chattering with their partners to be. For he cut 
rather a striking figure in his evening dress which showed 
off to advantage his fine proportions and great height. 
The sombre effect stood out against the Carnival of colour. 
His black hair and sunburnt face, the abstracted stare of 
his grey eyes under the dark ridge of brow and his un- 
studied air of command were obvious even in a crowd 
where smart Italian officers moved with a glitter of silver 
and blue, the picturesque Cavalry of Savoy. 

Two young Americans, arm-in-arm, looked at him and 
smiled at each other significantly as they strolled past, in 
search of partners. They put him down as the “ frozen 
type ” of Englishman whom they despised. They could 
not understand a man who had the power, inherited, of 
withdrawing into his private shell in the midst of a scene 
of gaiety. They ascribed what was perfectly natural in 
him to a studied pose and resented it, as an attempt at 
“ superiority.” 

Had they known that the man was tom to the roots 
of his being by a passion, hopeless from every point of 
view, and by the parting confronting him with the girl 
he so dearly loved, they would have held out eager hands 
of fellowship with the kindliness of a race humane to the 
core. But because they had never understood that the 
“ British reserve ” is bone deep in a decent man, a part 
of himself as much as the pride and love of country is in 
any true American, they saw in it but a matter for sport 
and widened the gulf between the nations by holding 
Doran up to scorn for the benefit of their girl friends. 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


233 


Even the man himself at last became aware of the 
mockery and the amused ribald glances cast openly in his 
direction. Unconsciously it added to the friction caused 
by his warring thoughts and, when the band dashed into 
a Two-step at Van Degan’s nod, an incident forced Doran 
into a more aggressive mood. 

The taller American of the pair had made a low extrav- 
agant bow to a pretty “ Pierrette,” standing close to the 
musicians, seized her gaily round the waist and whirled 
her off, manoeuvring to impede the progress of his friend 
who was following with the girl’s sister. The couple 
dodged from side to side, skipping grotesquely and forc- 
ing the pair in their wake to halt or risk a collision, 
anathematized by the victims. 

Doran looked up and scowled. 

Clowns ! ” He said beneath his breath. The misun- 
derstanding was complete. 

Then he saw Miss Van Degan, light as a feather, swirl 
past. She gave him the sauciest of nods and Doran’s 
glum face cleared. He watched her gay and triumphant 
progress and saw her halt instinctively before a girl with- 
out a partner, capture her and bring her back, the pair 
carefully screened from encounters with flying couples by 
their escort. 

He did not realize in the least that he was involved in 
their return until she came up beside him. 

Mr. Doran.” She tapped his arm. May I intro- 
duce Miss Mamie Gibson? You’ll sure love one an- 
other ! ” and with this and a little pat of farewell on his 
sleeve, she was off, like thistledown, in her partner’s 
clasp. 

Doran meanwhile began to confess somewhat nervously 
that he was forbidden to take an active part in the dance. 

“ I know. Nedda explained to me. Isn’t she a dream 
to-night?” Miss Mamie proceeded to set him at ease, 
pointing out the various costumes, with a bird-like motion 
of her head and pretty little restless hands, as they sat 
together against the wall. 

The dance was of short duration and in the hush that 
followed its close there came a sound of wooden shoes, 
clattering beyond the open door. Then, into the room. 


^34 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


joyfully, ran the quaintest looking couple. A Dutchman 
in huge sabots with balloon like trousers of faded blue, 
a short jacket and a little round cap set at a jaunty angle 
on his slightly wavy, iron-grey hair, a pipe in the corner 
of his mouth. On his arm hung a slender girl with 
smaller clogs and dainty ankles visible under her short 
full skirts, her laughing face framed in a cap with two 
wing-like projections of lace. Beneath this, heavy plaits 
of shining honey-coloured hair swung almost to her knees. 

Doran sprang to his feet. 

''It’s Judy, by Jove! — and Isoel.’' He remembered 
the girl beside him. " Some friends of mine,” he ex- 
plained. " Do let’s go and look at them.” 

“Aren’t they cunning?” said his partner. “I’d like 
to dance with that jolly Dutchman.” 

“ You shall I ” Doran laughed in his sleeve. “ Come 
along and be introduced.” For Judy’s sex must have 
puzzled many of the strangers crowding round the pair. 
She looked the part to the life. 

“ And we’ve got our dancing shoes inside,” he heard 
Isoel explain as they came up close behind them. 
“ Look I ” She drew out of one sabot a foot encased in 
a satin slipper of poppy-red that matched her stockings, 
the only bright splash of colour in the neutral-tinted dress. 

Look!'' Judy mimicked her in her deep voice and, 
amidst a roar of laughter from the lookers-on, exposed 
in turn a dancing pump, narrow but of masculine cut, 
then thrust it back into its “ boat.” 

She started to clatter the clogs on the floor, then 
stopped for further mischief. 

“ Dey VOS very useful grossing de dykes, vos dey not, 
my sveet Vrouw?” She tucked a hand through Isoel’s 
arm who responded promptly : 

“ Ja wohl, Pieter. Ven you fell in, de las’ time, after 
von leetle glass of Schnapps and I fished you aus mit a 
boathook ! ” 

“ And tore me pants,” said Judy, shameless. “ But 
Mynheer Van Degan lent us pins. Oddervise — ” she 
spread out her hands with a broad shrug that spoke 
volumes. The band had started again with a waltz. 

Komm ! ” She kicked away her sabots, seized Isoel 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


235 


and was off with a wild turn that sent the girl’s skirts 
whirling, her little feet raised from the floor for a mo- 
ment, but safe herself in those strong arms. 

Down the empty room they swept. People turned and 
watched, amazed. For Judy was a superb dancer. Like 
many largely-made women she moved smoothly in perfect 
time, her head erect, the joy of action in her clean-cut 
glowing face; and IsoH seemed to yield to her, supple, 
light, lost herself in the enjoyment of the moment. 

Van Degan came up to Doran. 

‘‘ Well,” he asked. “ Are you satisfied? ” 

** It’s a ripping get-up ! ” He was still laughing. 
“Judy’s in her element.” 

“ She’s a handsome woman,” said the painter. He 
saw his guest’s incredulous glance. “ Yes, it’s true. 
Look at her. A splendid head — those wide brows and 
the hair shading from black to silver. I’d like to do a 
portrait of her.” 

“ I wish you would. Just as she is ! ” Doran was in- 
wardly amused. Then a hint of wistfulness in the other’s 
face checked his mirth. 

“ She wouldn’t agree,” said Van Degan. “ I’ve often 
asked her to sit to me. For the last ten years, on and 
off, when I used to have a flat in Paris and a studio out 
Passy way. When she makes up that mind of hers I 
opine it would take some persuasion to get her to change 
it. An earthquake might do it, but, short of that, I’m not 
hopeful.” 

He smiled, with a little shrug of the shoulders, and 
moved off among his guests. Doran wondered. Then 
his thoughts returned again to Isoel. He could not keep 
his eyes from her. She looked so childish, so utterly 
happy, the long beautiful plaits of hair swinging above her 
dainty waist, clipped by Judy’s strong right arm. 

He willed them to come to a halt the next time they 
should pass, where he stood close to the door and a touch 
of triumph lit up his face as the spell worked. Judy 
cried : 

“ Hullo, Francis ! ” and pulled up. “ What do you 
think of this rig-out ? ” 

“ That you’ll both be breaking hearts to-night ! ” He 
spoke in a careless, laughing voice. 


236 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Can’t answer for IsoH. But 1 mean to ! I’m off 
now to secure a dance with the fair Nedda. See you 
later.” 

Doran was left with her late partner. He held out 
his hand for her card. 

‘‘ What may I have ? ” 

It was somewhat formal but she did not seem to notice 
it. The sight of her lover reminded her of the parting 
ahead, and her gaiety vanished. 

“ What do you want? ’’ she asked softly. 

Doran gave her a quick glance and saw the sadness in 
her eyes. 

“Want?” He pulled himself together and wrote his 
name in four places. “ Is that unfair? ” He handed the 
card back and added, “ I don’t dance and it seems a shame 
to tie you down to sitting-out with such a crock. So if 
you feel inclined to cut one, let me know.” 

She smiled slowly. 

“ I will.” 

The answer was unexpected. Doran was not at all 
accustomed to find that people evaded his dances. 

Before he could frame a laughing retort. Van Degan 
brought up some other men and they clustered round the 
picturesque figure, making her open compliments, the 
competition for her favours waxing warm and evoking 
chaff. 

Doran moodily withdrew. Then he felt a tap on his 
arm. It was Judy, who had failed to discover the where- 
abouts of her young hostess. 

“ Come out and have a smoke ? ” She guessed that this 
old friend of hers was conscious of being at a disadvan- 
tage among this youthful, healthy crowd and pitied him 
all the more in that dancing was his forte. 

“ Happy thought ! ” His face cleared. “ Where shall 
we go? You know the ropes.” 

“I do. Van Degan, like a Spaniard, has laid his whole 
house at my feet.” They moved out into the passage. 

“ Only his house ? ” asked Doran slyly. 

Judy shot him a sharp glance. Then she gave an im- 
patient sigh. 

“ No,” she said with her usual candour. “ Since you 
seem to be so well-informed. But, my dear Francis, look 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


^37 

at me ! Can you picture me as an artist’s wife ? ” Her 
laugh sounded a little forced. 

It roused all Doran’s chivalry. 

“ Yes, I can — in every way. Now I come to think of 
it, you’re not unlike a very famous modern painter. I’m 
speaking of Rosa Bonheur. I believe the life would suit 
you too, unconventional and free, and I speak from ex- 
perience.” He gave her a sunny smile. As regards the 
man — Van Degan himself — I like him. He’s sincere. 
That’s a big start in the game of marriage.” 

His voice had changed on the last words with a flat 
and hopeless intonation. They were climbing narrow 
stairs by now in the older part of the building. Judy 
stopped, rather abruptly, and laid a hand on his arm. 

“What’s the matter, old chap? Have you fallen out 
with Isoel ? ” As he did not answer her at once, she 
added warningly, “If so, you stand no sporting chance 
to-night unless you make it up. All the men are after 
her! ” 

Doran winced ; then swore softly. 

“ That’s right I Do you good. It’s rough luck. I 
sympathize. But why not go in and win ? ” 

Having proffered her word of advice, she moved on 
up the stairs and opened a door at the top. A cool wind 
poured down on them. 

“ Hurry up ! It’s going to bang.” 

He followed her, just in time, and stepped out upon the 
leads. Beyond them was a little tower, built upon the 
flat roof and holding a narrow cushioned bench. It had 
been arranged by Van Degan for summer nights to catch 
the view of the lagoon far away and the spires and 
cupolas of the city. 

On either side was a deep tub filled with plants where 
a stunted creeper was endeavouring to please its owner 
by straggling up round the doorway. 

Many an hour had Van Degan spent here in solitude 
over his pipe dreaming of the eccentric woman, who now, 
garbed like a man, was letting her big heart overflow 
with sympathy for another case of love-affairs gone awry. 

“ Sit there I ” Judy ordered, and settled herself on the 
step, her back against the wooden door-post, her profile 
framed by the starry sky. 


238 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Doran obeyed her listlessly. She pulled out her cig- 
arettes from a pocket in the vast trousers and dived again 
for her match-box. 

The man above her made up his mind. 

“ Judy. Tell me what you know. About Miss Dark.’’ 
His voice was hoarse. 

She nodded her grey well-shaped head. 

‘‘ So that’s it ! ” She shielded the light with her brown 
hands, cupped together. Some one been up to the old 
mischief.” 

“ What mischief ? ” He took the match she offered, 
solemnly blew it out and lit another for himself. 

This proof of absent-mindedness brought a twinkle to 
her eyes. 

“ I’d better start from the beginning — Bella and her 
‘ little birds.’ ” She seemed to be talking to herself. 
“ But if this is Rosamund Percival’s work I’ll wring her 
neck I And Phipps’s too.” For she thought he had been 
the tale-bearer. Can’t stand that young man.” She 
smoked for a minute, whilst Doran waited. “ It was like 
this — ” She started in earnest. 

Doran’s eyes never left her. Once he gave an odd 
sound, a stifled exclamation of wonder, but Judy, calmly 
ignoring it, proceeded with the history of Gervase Dark 
and “ Uncle Roger’s ” indiscreet revelations, edited by 
Rosamund. When she came to the finale where she had 
flattened the mischief-maker by the news that this girl 
whom she despised was well-connected, Doran’s face had 
cleared at last of its heavy trouble. 

‘‘ Do you mind telling me,” he asked in a husky, sup- 
pressed voice, “ who these connections actually are ? ” 
Not a bit ! ” Judy smiled. “ I found out by an acci- 
dent. Over her bag — her dressing-bag — which was 
an old-fashioned, silly affair with fittings engraved with 
a coronet. It had been left her by her cousin, the late 
Lady Manister. It came out quite naturally, in the 
course of conversation.” 

‘‘ Thank you.” Doran sat up and squared his shoul- 
ders. His eyes were shining. Judy,” he said. “ I’ve 
always known what a pal you were, one of the best ! No 
need to dwell on that. But now that you’ve done this 
for her, upon my soul I’m going to kiss you.” 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


239 


Before she had time to cry out he had caught her by 
both shoulders and administered a hearty salute on either 
firm sun-burnt cheek. 

“ There ! Now you can box my ears ! I deserve it — 
for more than this.” 

But the ring of youth in his voice, the real affection 
underlying the frank embrace had touched Judy, wiping 
out all sense of insult. 

Lord love us ! ” She stared at him, then went off in 
a peal of laughter. “ Hoots, Francie, ye’re daft, me lad! 
And this night — of all nights I Have ye no respect for 
me trews ? ” She extended a fold of the vast trousers on 
either side with a finger and thumb. Then rocked herself 
on the doorstep. To be kissed like a girl at her first 
party ! What on earth would Bella say ? Upon my life, 
I think I’ll tell her and she’ll write and ask you your 
intentions.” 

At this Doran joined in. They laughed until the tears 
appeared and Judy wiped her eyes, still shaking. 

“ I’ve been a damned fool, Judy.” Doran suddenly 
sobered down. “ The worst of it is, I can’t explain. But 
you’ve shown me the way out.” 

Judy nodded silently and lit another cigarette. The 
night was so still that they could hear the faint cries of 
the gondoliers as they bore their boat-loads homewards 
from the evening music on the water. Behind them in the 
distant harbour a siren rose with its weird music, half 
sob, half scream, from a big steamer outward bound. 
Then the silence fell again. 

Doran was staring into space. Judy stole a glance at 
him and averted her eyes. She felt lonely. For a fleet- 
ing moment she wished that Van Degan was by her 
side. An immense depression weighed on her spirit, she 
was tired of the role she set herself, the passive one of 
“ looking on.” Was there no happiness for her, personal 
and intimate? She stood up, with a little shake of her 
ruffled masculine disguise. 

“ There’s one thing more I can do for you.” Her deep 
voice was a little unsteady. Doran jumped. Then 
smiled up at the quaint figure in the doorway. Before he 
could speak she had added quickly, And that’s leave you. 
So long ! ” 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


1240 

She was gone with a brave laugh. 

“ Hold hard ! He sprang up and followed her across 
the leads. “Judy!” he cried as he reached the door. 
It was slammed in his face, and he stopped, baffled. 

No use pursuing her. And Judy “always under- 
stood.” 

It is a phrase offered freely to the unselfish at every 
crisis. For the man — or woman — who can sink his 
personal troubles at the sight of a friend in need of sym- 
pathy has many calls on his generosity and in time re- 
ceives the obscure reward of a reputation for “ good- 
nature” ! 

Doran returned to his old seat. The enigma was 
solved. No wonder the girl was secretive about her past 
with such a parent in the background. Poor, too, com- 
pelled to earn her living by any means at hand. He 
guessed that her youthful education had gone in the 
debacle which had left no pension to the widow, no social 
support to the orphaned girl. The whole story was piti- 
ful! She shrank, doubtless, from disclosing her life at 
Clotilde’s for fear it should raise the query of how she 
had come to this pass. For her sensitive pride was 
evident. 

So he reasoned, blinded by love, throwing doubt to the 
winds of heaven. Meanwhile the girl was his equal, a 
fit wife socially. More — and this thought had rankled 
* — a fit mother for his children. To Gervase Dark he 
gave scant thought. What if he had been a rascal? 
Was there ever an old family without a black sheep in 
the fold? 

He knew the Manisters by name; Catholics with an 
ancient title. This one had probably been IsoH’s cousin, 
through the father, with a sneaking pity for the outcast. 
Here, too, was an explanation of the girl’s trip to the 
South. No doubt Lady Manister had left her a little 
legacy and Isoel had launched out on this much-needed 
holiday before her proposed munition work. 

The pieces all slipped into place in the jig-saw puzzle 
of romance. He could afford now to smile at that lie 
which had raised such a barrier between them. For, 
although he still regretted it, he sympathized with the girl 
he loved. To let Tory Serocold — of all people — into 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


241 


her secret? It was too deep a wound to her pride. But 
he wondered again what had transpired at the fateful 
interview. 

Then for the first time that night a shadow of doubt 
obscured his vision. Had he been too sure himself that 
Isoel returned his passion? 

No. He could see those pleading eyes raised to his in 
the dark box, hear the quiver in her voice when she said 
that she would “ miss the guide.” His blood warmed at 
the memory. She was his — he was certain — for the 
asking ! 

He leaned forward and gazed out into a world strange 
to him : a land of roofs and twisted chimneys pierced by 
graceful campanile and the distant golden domes of St. 
Mark’s. 

The sky above was deeply blue, spangled with stars, 
and a baby moon pointed above the far-off water, smooth 
as velvet, that met the heavens beyond the darker blue 
of the Lido. Nearer appeared a flickering crescent of 
lamps that straggled along the Riva to disappear for a 
space and rise again from the Giudecca. 

Venice! He stretched out his arms to her. She had 
brought him the happy days of his youth and the purest 
ideal of his manhood. With the impulsive action he felt 
the need to hold in his strong embrace the living, breath- 
ing form of the woman who had awakened not passion 
alone but a finer emotion, love itself, that could only be 
satisfied by marriage. 

A campanile pealed out the hour, silvery tongued and 
the note was repeated from every quarter, until the air, 
still and fragrant, was charged with vibrations and the 
lingering echoes over the water. 

In a sudden panic he sprang to his feet. Heavens! 
Had he missed her dance? 

The thought acted like a spur and sent him hot foot 
down the stairs. 


CHAPTER XXI 


I SOEL tasted to the full that night the triumph that 
youth and beauty, and that more insidious gift of the 
gods, “ charm,” can bring to its fair possessor. 

Often had she dreamed in the dark, whilst the trains 
roared past and shook the room that she shared with 
Patty in gloomy London, of some wonderful faery en- 
tertainment in which she would shine like Cinderella. 

And here, at her very first dance, the vision had mate- 
rialized. She could have filled her card twice over, and 
a riot of joy took hold of her that brought a sparkle to 
her eyes, a delicate colour to her cheeks. 

The only tiny flaw in the evening was the remark let 
fall by Doran; that casual suggestion that she should 
“ cut ” one of his dances if she wished it. And every 
now and then she scanned the gay crowd for his lean, 
dark face, annoyed that he should hold aloof and be no 
witness of her triumph. 

Yet, perhaps — so the girl reasoned — he had meant it 
as an unselfish tribute, galled that he, too, could not 
assume an active part in the gaiety. 

She wished that his first dance had been one of the 
earlier ones instead of half-way down her crowded card ; 
but time was flying on swift wings and now, as she 
made her way back to the studio on her partner's arm 
— that same young American who had levied his wit on 
the man she loved at the commencement of the party — 
she felt that she had reached the climax of this wonder- 
ful hour of her life. For Doran would surely be wait- 
ing for her, with a hungry light in his keen grey eyes. 

Her partner was loath to relinquish her. A somewhat 
susceptible young man, he had fallen a victim to the charm 
of this graceful girl with her foreign accent, quick brain 
and delicate beauty. He had no scruple in letting her see 
it. Isoel, amused and flattered, not averse to hearing her- 
self described as a “ peach,” enjoyed it the more for the 
knowledge that he was smoothing the way for a more 
242 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


243 


perilous encounter. Braced by a sense of her power she 
felt in the mood to conquer Doran, sweep him, too, 
off his steady feet — this faery prince who still held back ! 

But a quick frown succeeded her smile when she looked 
round the long room. For the soldier was nowhere to be 
seen. 

The dance, a new and popular waltz, began with a 
quick succession of chords that slipped into the measured 
beat invitingly, and a few couples quickly seized the 
chance of enjoying a turn whilst the space was unre- 
stricted. 

Isoel’s partner glanced at her. 

“ Say, hasn’t he turned up ? Then let’s have one spin 
first. I’ll play fair and hand you over as soon as he 
blows in on us. Come ? ” 

His arm stole round her waist, his eagerness was in- 
fectious. It awoke an echo of mischief in her. 

“ All right.” Away they whirled, their steps in perfect 
harmony. ‘‘ He suggested himself that I should cut it,” 
Isoel thought, annoyed with Doran. “ I’m certainly not 
going to wait about for milord to saunter up and claim 
me. Not with a partner who dances like this ! ” 

Sheer joy of movement seized her, she gave herself up 
to dreamy delight. Then as they went more warily to 
avoid the incoming rush of people, she caught a glimpse 
of the defaulter and an angry light came into her eyes. 

For Nedda Van Degan stood beside him, laughing up 
into his face. She had seen him bolting down the stairs 
and was teasing him in the doorway where they were 
checked by a sudden crush. 

“ Flying from your fate? ” she asked. ‘‘ I guess you’ve 
been out on the roof, flirting. Look at your sleeve! 
It’s white with dust. Or powder ? ” Her mirth ran over. 
She flicked it with the lace fragment she called her 
pocket-handkerchief. Don’t ask me to sit out with you 
by and by. I’m easily scared ! ” 

“ I shan’t let you off,” said Doran. “ You put me on 
my mettle, remember.” He was forcing his way into the 
room with as much strength as he dared use, too happy 
in the memory of Judy’s words, to resent the momentary 
delay. “You ‘ watch out,’ ” he warned Nedda. “ I’m 
dangerous when I’m roused.” 


244 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


“ I sure believe you ! ” She laughed back, as they 
slipped through triumphantly. 

Then he saw IsoH. 

She skimmed past him, light as a bird, clasped close in 
her partner’s arm, her head brushing his square shoulder. 
The young man’s face was slightly flushed ; he was 
whispering, lips close to her ear. It looked like an ardent 
flirtation. 

“Well — I’m dashed!” thought the soldier. He 
moved across to his old corner and stood up against the 
wall, a prey to sudden jealousy, his gaze riveted on the 
pair as though by sheer hypnotic force he could bring the 
truants to his feet. 

But the girl, fully aware of his presence, gave no hint 
of it to her partner. 

“ I’ll teach him a lesson ! ” she cried in her heart. 
“ It’s his turn to wait now.” 

They passed so close to the silent figure that a frag- 
ment of their conversation reached him in Isoel’s clear 
voice : 

“ Of course I’ll come. Two o’clock.” 

Doran scowled as he heard it. They were making 
plans for a meeting elsewhere. Confound them ! At the 
next turn they reached the door, halted, laughed, and 
without a look in his direction, passed out, talking gaily, 
into the corridor beyond. 

This was more than Doran could stand. He strode 
after them, shoulders squared, and caught them up at 
the bend of the stairs. 

“Miss Dark!”^ 

She turned, with a well-feigned start, gave a little 
“ Oh ! ” of chagrin and a mischievous glance up at her 
partner. It said, plain for all to read : “ There — we’re 

caught ! What shall we do ? ” 

“ This is my dance, I believe.” Doran looked now the 
part of the “ frozen Englishman ” to perfection. 

The American’s blue eyes twinkled. 

“ Why, it’s that mutt ! ” he thought, amused. 

Isoel glanced down at her card. 

“ Yes. You’re right I But you didn’t turn up? ” She 
smiled wickedly at Doran. “ Besides, you gave me leave 
to cut it.” 


THE VISION SPLENDID 245 

Their eyes met and there ensued a short breathless 
battle of wills. 

The American became restless. He was quite willing 
to score off the man before him yet he felt a qualm 
that he was “ in wrong ” himself. . He decided to back 
up his partner. 

“ I guess we waited,” he began. 

Doran ignored him utterly, not with intentional dis- 
courtesy but because he simply didn’t count in a matter so 
vital concerning the girl. In his present exaggerated 
mood he felt that the happiness of his life would depend 
on the issue of this duel. 

Isoel laughed. It was less in mischief than from a 
touch of nervousness. She lacked the experience which 
would have taught her how to act at this juncture; and, 
already, a shade of regret, tinged with a curious fear, 
was dimming the triumph she had planned. 

To her surprise Doran joined in. He had himself in 
hand again. Two could play at this game ! Her amuse- 
ment had been a sting to his pride. 

I see.” His voice was cool and polite. “ My fault, 
all along. I apologize for the interruption.” And with 
this he turned quietly and went downstairs, his head 
high. 

But before he reached the last step he felt a touch upon 
his arm. 

“Francis!” 

He wheeled round. Isoel had followed him. She 
stood now on the step above, beautiful in her pallor, her 
eyes wide with apprehension. 

'‘Mon Dieu!” she said under her breath. “ I thought 
— I thought — ” Her hands went out in a foreign ges- 
ture oddly helpless. “ You didn’t come — ” Her mouth 
quivered. 

Doran’s anger was swept aside by a sudden wave of 
fierce longing. 

“ Do you want me ? ” His voice was hoarse. “ Or 
would you rather dance with him?’" 

At another time she would have smiled at the scorn 
sounding in the pronoun, but now she scarcely noticed it. 
For in playing with fire she had burnt her fingers. 

“ If you care for the rest of the dance,” she faltered. 


246 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


‘‘ Care ? ’’ Although he spoke in a whisper the passion 
breathed into the word made it quiver. 

She drew back, her cheeks flaming, with a cry of 
startled joy and fear. 

Doran leaned nearer her. 

“ You know I care.” His keen grey eyes seemed to 
probe her deepest thoughts. Come ! ” He was stand- 
ing by her now, a hand slipped through her arm, and un- 
resisting she let him lead her up the shallow stairs again . 

The American stood on the landing above, perplexed at 
the vagaries of the girl and uncertain as to his line of 
conduct. 

Doran paused when they reached him. 

Fm sorry to spoil your dance,” he said. ‘‘ But there^s 
been a mistake. It’s mine, by rights.” 

” Sure.” The other man nodded. He gave the girl 
a shrewd glance and she smiled shamefacedly. 

Doran waited for no more. 

” This way.” With an air of possession he swept her 
up the next flight. 

Van Degan passed them, with a smile; then cannoned 
into his other guests on the landing below, half lost in 
shadow. 

” Pardon ! Hello — it’s Heddon ! Haven’t you got a 
partner for this ? ” 

” I had. But she’s been marooned. Who’s the fellow 
who’s carried her off. I mean the little Dutch lady.” 

“ Oh, that’s Doran, the V. C. Some hero ! ” the host 
laughed. He related a part of the soldier’s exploit. 

‘‘You don’t say!” Heddon stared. Then he gave a 
little chuckle. “ He’s out to win or die to-night. I was 
wondering what she saw in him.” 

“ He’s a good chap,” said Van Degan. “ I used to 
know his father, the painter, years ago. David Doran. 
He did that sketch of the Rialto in the rain you boys were 
talking about.” 

“Is that so?” The other nodded. “Then I’ll wish 
his son good luck.” He spoke from a generous impulse. 
“ I should say that was going to be a match I ” 

He jerked his head towards the stairs, laughed, then 
swallowed a quick sigh as he followed his host, the mem- 
ory of the pretty girl still warm in his heart. 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


247 


Meanwhile the pair discussed had reached the narrow 
door to the roof. Doran unlatched it and held it back. 

“ Take care! There’s a step down.” He watched the 
little red slippers cautiously feel for the dusty leads. 

“ Where are we ? ” She looked about her. 

But Doran moved quickly ahead. The tower was 
empty. He thanked high heaven I The doubt had 
rankled in his mind. 

“ In here.” He guided her and stood for a moment 
on the threshold drinking in the picture she made be- 
neath the moon with her quaint lace cap framing closely 
her sweet young face against the bac%round of worn 
stone. 

Her eyes fell on the seat beside her. Surely there 
would not be room for two upon the narrow cushioned 
bench ? 

Doran solved the problem boldly. Before she could 
cry out or escape she found herself in his strong arms. 

‘‘ Isoel!” ^ 

He bent his head and drank deep of the cup of delight. 
He felt her tremble and shrink back; then, as his lips 
still pressed hers, she gave a breathless little sob, her soft 
hands stole round his neck and she clung to him with the 
swift surrender of body and soul to the call of love. 

Her utter abandonment sobered him ; though it brought 
its full measure of triumph. It awoke the man’s protec- 
tive instincts and with an effort he drew away, his eyes 
eager for her face. He read in it all he needed ; even to 
the swift shame that succeeded her first tremulous smile 
and the hot flood of colour that stained her cheeks pale 
from that moment of passion. 

For now a sudden sharp misgiving seized the girl; a 
memory of that far-off scene at the Lido. She slipped 
from his arms in a quick revolt against the weakness that 
had seized her, her bosom heaving, eyes startled, fencing 
him off with desperate hands. 

''Non, non!'* Her voice broke. ‘‘It ees not fair! 
When I told you — ” 

Doran, as quickly, understood. 

“ About the man ? ” 

She nodded, frowning. 


248 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


‘‘Why, my sweet; that was just why I did it. I 
wanted to make sure of you ! ” He laughed aloud, im- 
penitent. “You can’t get out of marrying me! Not 
now. Remember your promise.” 

She drew a deep, sobbing breath. It had come at last 
— the Vision Splendid! Here he knelt, her fairy prince 
offering her the half of his kingdom. And, better than 
all her wildest dreams, he was the man who had won 
her heart. 

Doran wondered at her silence. With the impatience 
of the lover he wanted to hear the truth from her lips. 

“ Come here ! ” He reached up an arm about her, 
masterful. “ No, I’ll be good. I give you my word. 
Say you love me ? ” 

She shook her head. 

“ I can’t — like that 1 ” She was suddenly shy. Then 
as she saw his face darken, with a swift movement she 
bent down and breathed in his ear, “ Je f adore! '' 

“ Ah ! ” He drew her down to his side. Her head lay 
against his shoulder, a plait of honey-coloured hair fell, 
heavy, across his knee. He smoothed it with trembling 
fingers. 

“ It’s beautiful. Like spun silk ! ” 

“ Not so beautiful as these.” She touched the scars 
upon his hand, lightly and caressingly. “If only you 
knew how proud I am ! ” Her voice quivered as though 
the tears were not far from her dark eyes. “ Let me say 
so — just this once! I know you hate to be reminded, 
but the thought of your courage is, to me, like a wonder- 
ful crown of glory — I can’t believe this is not a dream. 
Dear hands — ” Before he could guess her intention he 
felt her soft lips pressed to them. He snatched them 
away. 

“ My dear, you mustn’t ! You make me ashamed.” 

He was touched to the quick, so he tried to joke. “ It’s 
such a sinful waste,” he told her. “If you feel as gen- 
erous as all that — ” He left her no doubt as to what 
he meant. But now, forewarned, she evaded him. 

“ When did you find out ? ” she asked. 

“ That I loved you ? I can’t say. When I gave you 
back your Baedeker.” 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


249 


She laughed at this, happily. 

Fancy if I hadn’t left it — care of the pigeons! 
What a disaster ! ” 

“ I should have found some other way.” Doran smiled 
to himself. But the girl was looking thoughtful now. 
Those fluttering birds in the Piazza had reminded her of 
the great gold Church and the chapel of St. Isidore which 
had witnessed her childish vow. “ Well,” he smiled down 
into her eyes. “Tell me what you’re dreaming about? 
You mustn’t have any secrets from me. That’s the first 
of our bargains.” 

A shadow dimmed the Vision Splendid. Secrets ? She 
knew, to her cost, that these would always stand between 
them. She felt the menace of the future. Still she 
could confess to this one. She did so very simply. 

“ And I mean to be,” she concluded. 

“ A good wife ? I know that.” His own eyes were a 
little dim as he pictured the slender kneeling figure in 
the misty aisles of St. Mark’s. Carrying the thought 
farther he asked her, a shade abruptly : 

“ You’ll want to be married, I suppose, in a Catholic 
church?” 

“ Yes, of course.” 

He smiled at her look of wonder. 

“ So you shall. We’ll arrange all that, though I think 
we’ll have the knot secured in the gloomy abode of the 
Registrar before or afterwards. By the way,” — he 
slipped off his signet ring and placed it on her third finger 
— “ until I can get you a better one, you might as well 
wear this. Don’t forget you’re my property ! ” lie 
laughed and added teasingly, “ It will help to ward off the 
attentions of. ardent young Americans.” 

“ Mr. Heddon ? ” She smiled and dimpled, her eyes 
still fixed on the heavy ring. “ I think you were very 
rude to him. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know ! ” 

“Oh, didn't he? That’s a confession!” 

“ Well, you said I might cut it. And I thought you 
always spoke the truth ! ” She raised a mischievous face 
to his. 

“ It is rather a habit of mine.” His face went a little 
grim. “ As a matter of fact I relied upon your sym- 
pathy for my moment of temper! I used to be very 


250 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


keen on dancing and it rubbed me up the wrong way to 
feel that I was out of it” He went on more lightly, 
Fm inclined to believe that sitting-out is a much more 
perilous adventure/' 

It’s not too late to draw back ! " She laughed, then 
laid a hand on his arm. “ Francis — look at me. Do you 
think you will ever regret to-night ? " 

''My dear!” He kissed her. “How absurd!" He 
did not question the remark. He thought that it was 
prompted by the tragedy surrounding her childhood and 
the knowledge of her father’s disgrace. He took a vow 
then and there never to force her confidence, to let no 
shadow of the truth dim the week that lay before them. 
“ I’m not going to let you talk like that. It sounds as 
if you put me down as a changeable person, moved by 
impulse. And I’m not that — by a long chalk I I 
mayn’t be fond of many people, but those I care for 
count with me. You’ll find me hard to shake off, if that’s 
your plan ! ’’ He was laughing now. Then a new idea 
occurred to him. “ By the way, I suppose I ought to tell 
you that I’ve been engaged once before. It was only a 
boy and girl affair, but still — ’’ He shrugged his broad 
shoulders. 

“ I know. To Mrs. Serocold." 

Doran started. 

“ Did she tell you ? " 

“ Yes.’’ 

He saw in IsoH’s face a sudden flash of jealousy. His 
own was a trifle angry too. 

“Why? I mean—’’ He bit his lip. 

“ I think she guessed how matters stood.’’ Isoel was 
rather nervous. “We had — a little disagreement. Oh, 
don’t let’s talk about her now ! I think she bqlieved that 
the news would wound me. As if I cared about your 
past ! ’’ She snapped her fingers contemptuously. 
“ When we’ve got the present and the future.’’ 

“ Yes. You’re right.’’ His face softened. “ What 
are we going to do to-morrow? Would you be too tired 
to come with me for a long day to Chioggia ? ’’ 

“Tired? No. I should love it. I shall have to put 
Mr. Fleddon off. He was going to take me out to see a 
real live hydroplane! It seems that he’s 'some flyer’ 


THE VISION SPLENDID 


251 


himself, in his native land, though he’s over here studying 
art with Mr. Van Degan.” 

“ Well, he’d better stick to it,” Doran suggested. I’m 
not going to share you with any one.” 

‘‘ You could go off with the fair Nedda.” 

^ By Jove ! ” He pulled out his watch. It’s supper- 
time and I’ve cut her dance. Nice thing to do to your 
hostess.” 

You shouldn’t be so absent-minded.” Isoel rose to 
her feet, laughing. ‘‘And then blame others who are 
the same.” 

“ Oh, give me five minutes more ? ” he pleaded. “ It 
can’t make any difference now and I’ve hardly had a word 
with you. We’ll talk our real business to-morrow — but 
tonight — ” Pie held out his arms to her. 

“ Happy ? ” he asked a few minutes later. 

“Too happy. Will it last?” 

Again he caught the wistful note. 

“ I can answer for myself,” said Doran. He went on 
thoughtfully. “ I’ve never known love before. It’s the 
strongest thing in my life — a long way beyond the pull 
of ambition. It sweeps everything before it, even my love 
for my country. I never thought the day would come 
when I should regret the chances of war. But now — I 
don’t want to go ! I believe it’s making a coward of me.” 

“ Must you ? ” Her voice quivered. 

“ Yes, darling.” He stroked her hair. “ But we’ve 
got a golden week before us. More, I hope. If it comes 
to the worst, will you marry me before I go? ” 

“ To the Front? ” 

Doran nodded his head. 

He thought the immediate prospect unlikely and a faint 
sense of shame seized him. Was he playing upon the 
girl’s pity? 

But beneath this was a finer motive. Never again 
should Isoel be faced with a struggle for existence. He 
could not bear the thought that she should return to the 
old drudgery even for a few months, and he guessed her 
resources to be slender. Apart from his own strong 
desire for a speedy marriage he saw clearly that it would 
safeguard the woman he loved and the excuse seemed 
sufficient. It could not wound her sensitive pride. 


252 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Isoel’s heart beat fast. How it would solve all her 
troubles ! 

“If you want me to.'’ She whispered the words. 

“ I do.” His voice was solemn now. “ You see, dear 
heart, it’s like this. I think that we’ve not nearly reached 
the turning-point of this war. I’m not one of the opti- 
mists. There’s a time coming when every one will feel 
the pinch, and I couldn’t go and leave you to face it all 
alone without making things safe for you. Luckily I’m a 
wealthy man, and although money’s a poor thing com- 
pared to love, it’s some help, anyhow, at a crisis like 
this. 

“ Another important point is in case anything hap- 
pened to me — ” He felt her shrink and went on quickly. 
“I don’t mean that — but if I were wounded, you’d get 
a pull as my wife. You could probably come out to me 
if I were in hospital abroad. It would be harder still 
to leave you — afterwards. But then how fine to feel 
we’d stolen our honeymoon ! ” 

He stared out into the night. “ Think of it, Isoel. 
You and I, alone together.” His face worked with sud- 
den passion. “ Say you will ? ” 

She nodded her head. The tears were standing in her 
eyes. 

“ Oh,” she cried, “ how I hate this war ! It’s senseless, 
wicked cruelty. What have we done, you and I, to be 
punished ? How can God allow it ? ” 

He soothed her, moved himself. 

“ We’ve not suffered like many people. And it brought 
us together, after all. I’m almost inclined to bless that 
bullet — though I’ve cursed it pretty often since. Cheer 
up, old lady ! I don’t think there’s an earthly chance that 
I shall be passed for active service. Not yet, anyhow.” 
His arm stole round her again. “ But I vote we get 
married, all the same, even if it’s a home job. Do you 
agree ? ” 

^ His voice was eager but now caution returned to the 
girl. It would never do to jump at it or it might arouse 
his suspicions. 

“ That depends.” She looked wise. 

“ On what ? ” He gave her a searching glance. He 
saw her smile and, into her eyes where the long lashes 


THE VISION SPLENDID 253 

were still wet, there stole a little hint of mischief. “ I 
believe you’re only pulling my leg ? ” 

“Not at all! There’s my trousseau. Perhaps you 
think I’ll be married in this ? ” She straightened the 
wings of her lace cap on either side of her flushed cheeks. 

“ Why not ? ” He laughed back. “ Though it gets 
confoundedly in the way. The Dutch must.be a moral 
race. Oh, dash! — ” 

Some one had opened the door to the roof and voices 
drifted across to them. 

“Quick!” said Doran. “Just one? . . . Ah! Now 
, we’ll clear out and give those other beggars a chance ” 


PART III 

THE DREAMER AWAKES 
CHAPTER XXII 

4 4f I^HIS is the bluest day of all ! ” Isoel lowered her 
I leaf-coloured sunshade to shield her eyes from 
JL the steady glare that beat back from the water. 
I hope you only allude to the sky/’ Doran commented 
lazily. 

They were drifting along by the low shore of Mala- 
mocca, rendered vivid by the green strips of market 
gardens that supply the busy Erberia with its wealth of 
fruit and vegetables. A pair of barges with red-brown 
sails lay becalmed upon their right, waiting for a puff of 
wind, and some sea-mews were clustering round a float- 
ing mass of rusty seaweed, uttering their discordant cries. 
Apart from these patches of neutral colour the whole 
picture, as Isoel said, was a brilliant symphony in blue, 
from the cloudless heavens to the lagoon. 

/ don’t feel it, if that’s what you mean.” She smiled 
at him with half-closed eyes as the gondola moved im- 
perceptibly, gently propelled by Giovanni. 

Lovers — as he knew them to be — cast no thought 
for the passing hours. What need to hasten? The day 
was young and life an apparently endless affair. 

He had lunched at the Excelsior, where his patron had 
played host to the girl, and he had the easy temperament 
of a race inured to constant feste with the privileges of 
the Sabbath. ** Domani” was his favourite word: “to- 
morrow ” for work ! Meanwhile to-day was a sleepy 
bridge across the hours that brought him nearer to energy. 

Doran’s head slipped lower. He was drowsy with the 
great heat. 

“ Talk to me ! ” He slid out a hand and played with 
the long string of shells that hung from the girl’s white 
neck and swayed with each gentle rock of the boat 

“ I don’t want to. I’m dreaming of Phipps.” 

254 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


255 


The remark had the desired effect. Doran stirred. 

Pleasant for me ! ” He gave her necklace a little tug. 

If you break those I’ll never forgive you.” She stole 
a mischievous glance at him, and sighed. ‘‘To think 
that he’s gone away — that we’ve said good-bye — that 
it’s all over ! ” 

“ A good business,” laughed the soldier. 

“ Wait till you hear who he’s gone with ! ” For Phipps 
could never keep a secret and certainly not the present 
one concerning Mrs. Serocold, which had flattered his 
youthful vanity. 

” Who ? ” Doran watched her face, pale under the 
faint green light of her parasol. It made her lips more 
vividly red by force of contrast. 

“You can’t guess? A well-dressed lady who doesn’t 
‘ approve ’ of the war and calls Venice a ‘ dull hole ’ and 
Paris ” — she dimpled — “ ‘ too divvy ’ ! ” 

“Tory? Well, I’m blessed!” Doran chuckled. 
“Who told you?” 

“ Who but the preux chevalier himself ! He’s not mod- 
est over his conquests. They eloped by the early train. 
Quite a scandal at the pension! The Percivals turned up 
at the station to see him off — as a ‘ surprise ’ I Mrs. 
Serocold was furious ; pretended it was an accident. But 
the funniest part of the affair ” — Isoel’s eyes were 
dancing with mischief — “ was that Phipps had arranged 
to change his ticket, a third-class one, with the maid. 
When we all arrived unexpectedly to bid him a fond fare- 
well, the fair lady became discreet and kept Therese glued 
to her side. So Phipps had to scramble in with a crowd 
of peasants and babies and garlic. You never saw any 
one so disgusted! At the last moment Judy bought a 
Bologna sausage and handed it in through the window 
for his lunch, wishing him ‘ huon appetito ’ ! ” 

“Isn’t that just like her?” Doran laughed heartily. 
“ Why didn’t you let me join in the fun?” 

“We didn’t know until too late. Judy planned it all 
last night. I presented a bunch of flowers tied up with 
white ribbon and finished off with a paper doyley which 
I stole from under a plate of biscuits as I came through 
the dining-room. 

“ I saw him pitch it out of the window when the train 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


256 

left the platform. He was white with anger, and Rosa- 
mund was nearly as bad. Of course the Percivals knew 
nothing. The lady with the granite crown gave Mrs. 
Serocold such a glance! I only wish you could have 
seen it. Judy and I got there early and we hid in the 
refreshment-room and watched the meeting of the lovers. 
Smart wasn’t the word for her ! Such a wonderful trav- 
elling coat — she looked like a London bride 1 ” 

“ You ought to be more sympathetic,” Doran reminded 
her. 

“ That’s exactly what Judy said ! I told her the secret 
coming home.” 

“ About us ? ” 

Isoel nodded. She had wisely kept their engagement 
dark until she had seen her enemy safely out of the neigh- 
bourhood. 

“ Was she surprised? ” Doran smiled. 

‘‘ Not a bit. It fell quite flat ; although she was awfully 
nice about it. She’s rather worried, just now. Miss Van 
Degan’s still a wreck. A dreadful thing their getting 
the news on the morning after the party. As her brother 
puts it, she’s ‘ delicate-minded ’ and she feels it too ter- 
ribly — that they all should have been dancing gaily, 
with their friends at the bottom of the sea.” 

She referred to the latest Hun outrage, the sinking of 
the Lusitania, torpedoed that fateful Friday. 

“ Yet, it’s the limit.” Doran scowled. “ Did she know 
any people on board ? ” 

“ Several. A girl whom she is fond of. Miss Mamie 
Gibson, lost both her mother and sister! And one of 
Mr. Van Degan’s pupils — such a promising young 
artist — is also among the list of missing. Then there’s 
poor Mr. Heddon. You remember him?” Doran 
nodded. His best friend, a college chum, died in one 
of the open boats. He was badly wounded in the explo- 
sion. Mr. Heddon’s broken-hearted, vowing vengeance 
on the Huns. If America doesn’t take drastic action, he’s 
going straight off to France to join up in the flying 
corps.” 

“ I respect him,” said Doran simply. 

“ So do I.” But her voice was absent, for something 
fresh upon the shore had roused her curiosity. 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


257 


They were nearing a little settlement of scattered 
houses around a church, washed a pale ochre colour with 
a row of saints on the top who looked as though they 
were mustering courage to dive into the water below. A 
pier jutted out from the beach and above was a little 
campo where a group of children were scrambling round 
some hidden object excitedly. Barefooted, and dressed 
in rags of faded colour, they marked a note of human in- 
terest in the picture of sleepy heat and shuttered dwell- 
ings. 

“ I wonder what theyVe got there ? ” IsoH was curi- 
ous. “ Listen ! 

They could hear shrill cries as the urchins hustled one 
another pushing their way to the centre. 

Can’t we go a little closer ? ” 

Doran turned to Giovanni and they stole up beside the 
pier. 

“You don’t want to get out, do you? It’s so dusty, 
and think of the fleas ! ” He laughed as he saw her quick 
grimace. “ This is their happy hunting-ground — you 
don’t know Venice in the Summer! The flora perhaps 
but not the fauna, ‘ indigenous to sandy soil.’ Isn’t that 
the classic phrase ? Hullo — ” He broke off and stared. 

The scuffling mass had fallen apart and a boy appeared 
with an air of pride, dragging something by a string 
over the uneven ground. 

“ A snake 1 ” Isoel and Doran exclaimed simultaneously. 

“ Ugh ! Beastly.” He leaned forward with a white 
man’s instinctive disgust of reptiles. 

“ How exciting ! They must have found it in a mar- 
ket garden and killed it there. One of the drawbacks 
to Eden.” She seemed amused but unmoved by the fact. 

“ You don’t mind them? ” Doran wondered. 

“Not so much as some things — a black beetle, or a 
bat!'' The word was brought out with an effort that 
testified to her repugnance. 

“Isn’t that just like a woman?” The man was 
amused at the contrast. “ Two most inoffensive crea- 
tures, whereas a snake — ” 

She interrupted. 

“ Doesn’t flutter about in the dark and get entangled in 
your hair! Not in England at any rate. Besides that, 


i258 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


in a way, they’re fascinating. Yes, I mean it!” She 
smiled up into his face. “ Those big fellows at the Zoo 
— the way they move, that slow ripple. I could stand 
and watch them for hours.” 

“ You frighten me I ” He turned his head and the 
gondolier, obeying his gesture, steered them back to the 
deeper water where the broad channel was marked by 
posts leaning up against each other like a procession of 
revellers, too tipsy to cross the mud flats. ‘‘ I begin to 
think Fm under the spell of a Lamia and that I shall wake 
one fine day to see a serpent offering me my breakfast 
egg!” 

Isoel smiled at this. She tucked a cushion under her 
neck and slipped lower in the boat, drowsy with the heat 
and silence. For the Spring seemed to have reached its 
zenith and even the breeze off the sea was warmed by 
the great gold sun above, as fierce as in an English sum- 
mer. 

“ I suppose Fm accustomed to snakes,” she murmured. 

Doran looked surprised in earnest. 

“Why? You’ve never lived in the East?” Some- 
thing a little sharp in his voice roused her from her 
lethargy. 

“ No. It did sound rather mad. As though I might 
have kept them as pets ! ” She gave him a happy smile. 
“ I was thinking of my childhood days. It reminded me 
of my father.” 

“ Yes ? ” he prompted very gently. He wondered what 
was coming now. “ Did he tell you tales about them?”' 

“ No, but he had a snake on his arm, tattooed — a real 
work of art, every tiny scale perfect. It had been done 
years before, when he was in the Tropics. The head 
was in the crook of his elbow and then it coiled down to 
the wrist. I used to beg him to show it me and to clench 
his fist and make the muscles stand out, when it looked 
just as if the snake wriggled. My mother thought it 
horrible, but of course, a child — you understand ? ” She 
shrugged her shoulders daintily. “ To me it was a lovely 
game.” 

Doran nodded. He was glad she could talk in this 
way, naturally, about the unworthy captain. In time she 
would tell him everything. 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


259 


“I can quite fancy how it amused you.’’ He was 
not going to press her now for any further confidences 
and mar the harmony of the moment. “ You must have 
been the dearest kid. I wish I’d known you in those 
days.” 

A shadow fell across her face. That squalid home in 
Monaco haunted her at such moments. She felt the sud- 
den dizziness of one who climbs up a ladder and pauses to 
peer down into the depths. Her mouth drooped and her 
eyes grew sombre. 

Doran saw the changed expression. It moved him 
with love and pity. He thought she was grieving over 
her father and changed the subject tactfully. 

“ I think we’ve come quite far enough. We shall kill 
the patient Giovanni if we don’t start for home soon.” 
He gave the man the welcome order. “ And now I want 
to talk plans. You told me yesterday you thought of 
remaining at the pension until after I’d seen the Board. 
But I’m hoping that you’ll change your mind. I don’t 
like leaving you in Venice. I believe that war is im- 
minent. Yes, here ,” — as she glanced at him. “The 
King didn’t go to Quarto nor any of the Government- — 
too busy with the crisis. There’s a rumour that the 
Kaiser has sent a telegram to von Biilow stating that, if 
Italy moves, a great German army is ready to back up 
Austria on the frontier. I think this Lusitania business 
has put the cap on the affair. In Milan and other towns 
they’ve had Anti-German demonstrations and I want to 
get you out of the place to avoid the rush of frightened 
tourists. You’ll have to come home with me.” 

“ Oh ! ” IsoH stared at him. She did not resent his 
masterful manner but her brain was busy with ways and 
means. She saw new rocks ahead that threatened her 
frail bark of adventure. 

“ Yes.” He slid an arm about her, then remembered 
the man behind them. “ Bother Giovanni ! ” He drew 
it back. “ Why can’t he go and row in front? ” 

IsoH laughed. 

“ Do you think he cares ? ” 

“ / do ! ” said Doran promptly. Let’s get off at the 
Lido and have tea at the hotel, then take a stroll along 
the sands.” 


26 o 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


They decided that this was a thoughtful scheme; it 
would give the gondolier a rest. 

Now ril tell you my idea first, then you can start to 
criticize it. He can’t see if I take your hand ? ” 

‘‘ I don’t know.” She was mischievous. I can feel 
his eyes like black gimlets boring into the back of my 
neck.” 

“Well, lower that parasol behind us. It will do you 
good to get sunburnt ! ” 

“ Thanks ! ” She turned a mutinous face towards him, 
refusing the suggestion. 

“ I’ll pay you out later on,” Doran threatened. “ Just 
listen, now. I want you to travel home with me on Fri- 
day. We’ll stay for a day in Paris and look up old 
haunts. If you’re very good you shall choose the ring.j 
Isn’t that a sufficient bribe? Then we shall have to go 
to Havre.” 

“ Havre ? ” She opened her eyes wide. 

“ Yes. It’s a great nuisance. But I promised my sis- 
ter Mabs to stay with her for a night on my return jour- 
ney. She’s running a canteen there, whilst her hus- 
band’s in the Dardanelles.” 

“ But she won’t want me/' Isoel faltered. She saw 
the pitfall under her feet, endless questions and explana- 
tions. At all costs this must be avoided. 

“ Of course she will ! You can stay with her. I’ll 
fix that up, all right. She’s got a little furnished villa 
with another woman and I can go to an hotel if there 
isn’t room for both of us. You’ll like her. She’s a good 
sort, not a bit like my eldest sister. Honestly, I can’t 
stand Carrie, though her husband’s not a bad chap. He’s 
the member for Duncingham, Sir Peter Chivers — no, not 
the jam ! — though I always say so just to rile her. This 
one at Havre is a Mrs. Strahan — ‘ Mabs ’ as all the 
world calls her. She’s a dear and we’re great pals. She 
used to sneak round and see my father — though Carrie 
never came near us.” 

Isoel was thinking hard. She remembered Patty and 
her promise to return to the dingy room they shared, 
direct from the railway station. But Doran must never 
know that address. Here was a perilous situation ! She 
asked, in order to gain time : 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


261 


** How do you get home from Havre? ” 

He noticed the pronoun and smiled to himself. 

We return by Southampton.'' His mouth had as- 
sumed obstinate lines. “ I don’t come up before the 
Board until Tuesday at twelve o'clock. This will give us 
plenty of time. By the way, it seems a ridiculous 
thing, but I don't know where you live." 

Isoel was prepared for this. She laughed but it cost 
her an effort. 

“Nowhere! That's the trouble. You see I've been 
sharing a little flat with a girl friend all the winter. But 
she's gone down into the country. So we've let it fur- 
nished pro tern. I shall have to look out for fresh quar- 
ters." 

“ Well, my dear, it won’t be for long." He pressed her 
hand. It sounded to him a likely story. He was filling 
up a further gap. Of course she went to live with this 
girl after Lady Manister's death. 

“ No, but it piakes it rather awkward." Isoel stared 
blankly ahead. Suddenly inspiration came. “ I’ll tell 
you what I’ll do," she cried. “ I’ll travel with you as far 
as Paris. I should love that — just perfect. No hateful 
parting here. Then you can go on to Havre and I'll do 
a little shopping. In case — " She paused with a height- 
ened colour and gave him a shy smile. 

“ Get your trousseau ? ” His voice was eager. 
** You’d be ready then, if there’s a rush! But I wanted 
you to meet Mabs." 

“ I’d rather not." She was pleading now. “ Though 
of course I’d like to, later on. But she’s sure to want 
you to herself. I should feel distinctly de trop. And 
I’m so shabby. I came out with all my old winter 
clothes." 

“ But you’d follow at once if I wired to you? ’’ 

“ By the next boat." 

He nodded his head. He understood that it might be 
an ordeal for her to be shown to his relations. For love 
was making him unselfish. 

“ Well, I give in. Though I feel cheated ! " 

“You’re a darling!" She tipped back the green sun- 
shade, daring the sun, and leaned closer. Doran needed 
no broader hint. 


262 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Behind them the gondolier was smiling benignly. The 
thin silk of the pretty but cheap parasol proved no ob- 
stacle to his view. 

Who wouldn’t kiss the Signorina ? He wished he had 
a chance himself ! And the Signore always proved so 
generous after these excursions. There was no need for 
a poor man to dwell on grave home expenses. With his 
last rich English client the only substantial '' buona 
mano ” beyond his regulation tip had been earned by a 
tearful recital of a fictitious baby’s death and the inci- 
dental heavy costs. 

Giovanni later had paid for the lie by a night of su- 
perstitious terror when his eldest-born went down with 
fever. He had decided then and there to make an offers 
ing to the Saints, but morning light and recovery on the 
part of the little sufferer had sent the money the usual 
way, into the nearest lottery. Here with commendable 
foresight he chose a number corresponding to the age of 
his ofepring plus the date on which he had married — 
a trifle late from the recognized moral standpoint. 

He placed it to the score of the Saints that the ticket 
failed to win a prize. The Church was famous for its 
greed! But it did not debar him from further invest- 
ment in the great State gamble. 

Some day he would make a fortune. Then away to 
America to double it in that land of gold which is always, 
in the Italian mind, the half-way house to an old age back 
in the beloved sunshine, freed from the need of further 
exertion. 

Through the silence, a whistle shrilled. A fussy 
steamer was churning up the wide passage in their di- 
rection packed with a motley crowd of tourists and na- 
tives bound for Chioggia. 

The sunshade went up with a jerk, the pair beneath 
it separated discreetly, leaving a space where -no hand- 
clasp bridged the gulf. 

Somewhat self-consciously Doran began to talk : 

‘‘ I’d forgotten my duties as a guide — I mean, as re- 
gards Venice.” 

Isoel laughed. 

“ Fm glad to hear you don’t set up as a guide to be- 
haviour.” 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


263 

“ No.’’ He gave a little chuckle. “ Though I did be- 
fore I met you. It’s a case of ‘ evil communications ’ ! ” 
He waved his hand towards the island, an eye on the 
approaching boat. “ It was a merchant of Malamocca 
who brought home the body of St. Mark — don’t ask me 
for the date ! — it’s rather a fascinating story.” 

“ Tell me.” She smoothed back a rebellious lock of 
bright hair. 

“ He and another adventurer from Torcello fitted out 
a ship and together they sailed for Alexandria, ostensibly 
in pursuit of trade. They bribed the men who were in 
charge of the famous basilica, stole the Saint in the dead 
of night and hid him away in a cart under a load of salt 
pork.” 

“ Oh ! ” Isoel looked shocked. 

“Don’t you see their Italian cunning? No Mussul- 
man would dare to lay a finger on unclean meat. It was 
jolly well thought out! They got it on board and set 
sail and had a miraculous journey home through seas as 
smooth as a sheet of glass — beyond one trifling contre- 
temps. A boat of unbelievers scoffed and immediately of 
its own accord the ship of St. Mark bore down and 
rammed it. He had a short way with sinners ! ” 

Doran paused as the steamer slid past and the gondola^ 
caught in the wash, rocked wildly for a minute. 

“ I hope you’re a good sailor, my dear.” 

“ Go on with the story.” 

“ Well, there isn’t much more to tell beyond the wild 
excitement in Venice. They placed the body for greater 
safety in one of the pillars of the church. Not then — 
but later on. I think I’m getting a little mixed ! Only 
a few people knew his exact whereabouts and when they 
died the secret was lost. No good calling out the Crier! 
Then in the midst of the city’s despair St. Mark solved 
the problem himself. For the stones opened, revealing the 
corpse, snug in the middle of his pillar! He’s supposed 
to lie in state since under the High Altar, but I’ve often 
wondered what happened to him when the church was 
burnt down completely at the end of the tenth century.” 

“ The fire wouldn’t touch him,” said Isoel gravely. 

Doran suppressed an incredulous smile. He respected 
her faith. 


’264 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


‘‘ You’re probably right.” 

** I wish I knew a quarter as much as you do about 
Venice. I love all these wonderful stories.” 

“ I won’t swear that they’re all authentic,” Doran re- 
minded her. 1 picked up most of them from my father. 
He used to tell me them as a boy when I played about the 
studio.” 

“ You must miss him,” she said softly. 

Doran nodded. After a little he let her into his private 
thoughts. 

If only one knew — if I were sure some part of him 
* carried on,’ and above all, that he was happy.” 

” But of course he is ! ” Her voice was low. ** A fine 
man — he has his reward.” 

The note of belief comforted him. He gave her a 
grateful glance. 

“ It seems simple then to you ? ” 

“ Not always,” she conceded. Then she smiled with 
tender lips. A God who could paint this sky and sea 
would be sure to safeguard his artists.” 

‘‘ Bless you ! ” The pretty thought touched Doran’s 
imagination. It’s what the old man always said. He 
believed that Beauty was indestructible — that it went 
on in a higher form, with all great effort and honest 
work ; that nothing was lost, no germ of Truth.” 

A little silence fell between them, intimate and filled, 
to him, with memories of the dead man. But IsoH’s 
mind moved ahead. She was faced with another diffi- 
culty. How could she get her precious dot safely con- 
veyed to her at Paris? She needed it for her trousseau 
— that old dream realized! It had been placed in the 
Savings Bank at a post office in Soho. Anywhere else, 
she said to herself, it would have been easy to ask Doran 
to take the matter in hand for her. But now she must 
turn again to Patty. Then she remembered that her 
friend was off on a week’s holiday. For a letter had 
reached her overnight announcing a visit to Southend. 

“Isn’t it fun?” — the girl had written — “I’m going to board 
with Bert’s aunt and he’s coming down for the week-end. Hope 
there won’t be Zepps about! Though Bert says there’s a fine 
cellar. Perhaps it would bring him to the point? You can pic- 
ture me among the coals being proposed to, can’t you, ducky? 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


265 


I didn't expect to get away till Easter but they’re repainting our 
rooms at the Stores and we’re now in the Hairdressing depart- 
ment. Very crowded — and stuffy too! So they’re letting us all 
off in turn and mine came first — good biz! I shall return with 
Bert on Monday. A lucky thing I’ve a new frock.” 

So Patty would not be back in time and who else 
could she trust to draw out the precious money and place 
it to her credit at Cook’s ? 

Sir Abel Groot? 

Would he do it? There was no harm in asking him 
and to make the matter doubly certain she would enclose 
her Post Office book. For she shrank from the thought 
that the crafty old man should mistrust her statement 
concerning her dot and imagine that she craved a loan. 
He should see the balance was there intact. 

Doran broke in on her scheme. They had reached the 
landing-stage at the Lido. 

It’s a bit too early for tea yet. Shall we take the 
tram across and have a look at the open sea ? ” 

She agreed, and leaving the gondola, they settled them- 
selves in that stuffy conveyance, deserted at this hour 
of siesta save for a swarthy yawning conductor. 

This awakens memories. Weren’t you cross with 
me that night ? But I’ve had my revenge,” Doran 
laughed. He was in a very happy mood. 

It was good to feel that those days of doubt were 
passed, that they faced life together on a new basis of 
confidence. The girl looked at him curiously. 

“ But then, it was a different matter. You wouldn’t 
have expected me to be anything else but cross, would 
you ? ” 

“ No, darling.” His face grew serious. ‘‘ I think 
what I love best about you is — oh, well, I can’t ex- 
plain.” He gave her a nervous glance. “ Women are 
not always straight.” 

She forced a smile but a sharp pain stabbed her heart, 
unexpectedly. 

Straight ? Was she straight with him ? Then she gave 
herself a shake. How silly she was to let regret mar 
the joy of this perfect hour. And once married she 
would be safe. She threw off the touch of depression. 

“I’ll confess to you. I was jealous!” But she 


266 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


laughed on the word airily. “ Yes — those gloves. I 
suspected a rival. And I wasn’t far wrong, was I?”^ 

“Jealous of Tory? Good Lord! That’s the limit.” 
He meant it too. “ She’s all right as an old friend, but 
she’s not a patch on — my wife I ” 

“ Ah, don’t I ” She crossed herself. It’s not lucky 
to call me that. Not yet 1 ” 

He smiled at this outburst. 

“ We’ll soon be able to laugh at Fate! D. V. and the 
powers permitting, you’ve only a week or so of freedom 
to indulge in your criminal tendency to flirt with Phipps 
and American ‘ beaux.’ What do you want for a wed- 
ding present ? ” 

“ Oh ! ” Her face lit up. 

“ I rather thought ” — he was feeling his way — “ that 
since you’re to be a war-bride we’d take the fashionable 
course.” 

“ And omit it? ” She laughed back. 

“No. I meant I’d give you a cheque. It’s what every 
one’s doing now.” For he thought she might be short of 
money. 

“ I shouldn’t accept it ! ” Her cheeks flamed. 

“ My dear child, don’t be vexed. It’s much more prac- 
tical in war-time.” His voice sounded obstinate. 

“ Then I don’t want anything,” she cried. 

He saw that her pride was touched. 

“ Well, perhaps we’ll find something in Paris. I’d like 
you to choose it anyhow. It’s fine to think you’re coming 
with me. What will they say at the Cats’ Home ? ” 

“ Another elopement ! ” She smiled, relieved. He 
had given in to her desires and it filled her with new 
confidence ; for she knew the strength of his will. 

They got out of the hot tram and made their way 
past the last building and the scattered groups of idle 
people sunning themselves by the shore. 

On they went perseveringly until they reached an open 
stretch of shining sand, where the shells glistened and 
they had their Eden to themselves. 

Her spirits rose in proportion to the sense of open 
space and sea. 

“ I’ll race you to that second stake ! ” She dared him 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 267 

like a mischievous child. The prize shall be the largest 
shell/’ 

Without waiting for his response she was off swift and 
light as a bird. Then in the midst of her first flight she 
stopped as though a stone had struck her, turned slowly, 
her face changed, and came fluttering back to him. 

“ Oh, my dear ! ” Her lips quivered. “ Forgive me — 
I didn’t think. You mustn't run ! I’m so sorry.” 

He held out his arms to her. 

“ Silly child ! It doesn’t matter.” Divining her trou- 
ble, he spoke lightly. 

“ Yes, it does.” She gave a sob. “ It’s such a shame! 
But I’ll make you well. I’ll wait upon you hand and foot 
and nurse you until — ” She could say no more. 

For Doran had swung her off her feet in a mighty hug 
that bespoke his strength. Then he put her down again, 
a wicked twinkle in his eyes. 

“ Nurse me? Not if I know it! ” He settled himself 
on the sandy ridge and took her deliberately on his knee. 

That’s better, isn’t it ? Thank God we’ve got rid of 
Giovanni ! ” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


not given to sentiment/’ — Judy sat by the open 
I window on a low stool, hugging her knees and pro- 
1 nounced this statement thoughtfully — “ but I’m 
blest if I like your going away ! Everything seems to have 
come together.” She puffed out her cheeks dolefully. 

Isod looked up from the floor where she knelt before 
her heaped-up trunk, adding a few remaining trifles by 
the aid of a smoky lamp. 

“ You won’t miss me half so much as I shall miss you, 
mon cher. I wish you were coming home with us.” 

No such luck,” Judy grunted. “ Lord ! How I long 
to be back in England.” She struck her leg with a 
clenched fist. “ There’s work to be done that makes me 
break the last commandment at every turn. And here 
I am, lazing about in gondolas and prattling to cats who 
think that a scarf with a ball fringe is all the nation re- 
quires of them! One of those old rips downstairs has 
worked her initials into a helmet to show the ‘ poor dear 
men ’ at the Front that ^ somebody is thinking of them ’ ! 

Isoel laughed. 

“ How touching 1 ” She glanced at the trim compact 
figure of this woman she had learnt to love. “ I can guess 
you’d find plenty of work to suit you. If you went 
back, what would you do ? ” 

“ I think I’d take up carpentering. I’m pretty useful 
in that line. Start a workshop and teach girls to take 
men’s places by and by. But what’s the use of imagin- 
ing things that can’t be ? ” Her voice was hopeless. 
“ There’s Bella, you see. I can’t leave her, and Eng- 
land’s too cold at present. It’s always been Bella. I 
don’t grudge it — poor old girl! But there you are. I 
suppose it’s what the ‘ unco guid ’ would call my ‘ work 
in the world ’ — or some other rot like that ! But I’m 
not built for a ‘ lady companion ’ with all the Christian 
virtues thrown in: a taste for arranging bowls of flow- 
ers — and a rooted objection to dusting china! I’d far 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 269 

sooner sweep the stairs. I like a thoroughly active life 
and to mix ” — she smiled — with my fellow-men.*' 

“ I think you’re a perfect saint to stand it.” 

Judy caught her up with a frown. 

“ You’re wrong there. I’m fond of Bella and I couldn’t 
rub along without her. If only I got more time to myself. 
The trouble is I can’t afford a decent home and a trained 
nurse to relieve me from the constant attention. I 
should always want Bella with me. We’ve stuck to- 
gether through thick and thin. But if I could take up 
an outside job and spend my leisure time with her it 
would be such a relief to my tejnper. She’s not exactly 
an invalid but she’s always on the verge of it. I’ve been 
so worried about her to-day. She had a nasty fainting 
fit and the doctor here is a perfect ass. I warned him 
beforehand that she was nervous and he went and told 
her her heart was weak ! Just what I didn’t want her to 
know.” 

“ How annoying.” Isoel nodded. 

‘‘ Well, it’s done. Poor old Bella is feeling her pulse 
every hour. She’s not exactly unhappy about it, rather 
triumphant. She said to me : ‘ There, Judy, I’ve always 
told you there was something radically wrong.’ And 
she’s fished up an ancient relation who died from angina 
pectoris, and says it’s in the family! It’s rather a com- 
fort to her perhaps that it’s such a respectable complaint.” 
Judy chuckled as she added, And not the result of youth- 
ful excesses.” The smoky lamp caught her eye and she 
crossed the room to lower the wick. “ Let’s have old 
Flinders up and ask her to inhale this stink. I’ll bet you 
it’s short of oil.” 

‘‘ She’d only invent some pathetic excuse.” 

Yes, she’s gifted in that line. The last time I com- 
plained of my boots she explained with a modest blush 
that Giuseppe’s wife had had twins. When I told her 
that I couldn’t connect the two industries, she fled.” 
Judy gave a delighted bark. I do love to shock the 
Flinders ! But she gets her revenge in the bill. Shall I 
turn out this brute and trim it, or can you get along with 
candles ? ” 

“ Wait one second and then I’ve done. There 1 ” 
Isoel closed the box. 


*270 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Judy seized the unruly lamp. 

“ IVe got an idea! We’ll place this on the little table 
near number six.” This was Mrs. Percival’s room. 

And let it smoke itself to death. There’ll be a holy row 
directly when the lady comes up to bed.” She went off 
with a chuckle. 

Isoel lit the pair of candles and started to pack her 
dressing-bag. The sight of the worn fittings reminded 
her of her first meeting with Judy in the train and of 
her own unnecessary falsehood concerning Lady Manis- 
ter. 

“ I don’t suppose she remembered the name five min- 
utes after,” she said to herself reassuringly. Neverthe- 
less as she heard the door reopen to admit the practical 
joker, she closed the bag rather quickly, unwilling to 
rouse old memories. 

“ It’s smoking like a factory chimney,” Judy announced 
with a grin. “ Now, what can I do to help? ” 

'' Nothing. I’ve finished for to-night. So let’s have 
a last gossip.” She pushed the arm-chair towards her 
friend and sat down on the bed. “ I went round after 
lunch to say good-bye to the Van Degans but he was out 
and his sister was not well enough to see me.” 

“ No. The child’s all to bits. I learnt to-day that the 
young man who was drowned in the Lusitania was rather 
more than a mere friend.” Judy’s face was serious now. 
‘‘ He was to have travelled over with her but was de- 
layed at the last moment. Rough luck on both of them ! 
It’s hit America pretty hard, this last piece of foul play. 
They’ll know what the Canadians felt when they found 
their men crucified. Oh, this war ! It’s a bad business. 
I don’t mean the clean slaughter so much as the need- 
less cruelty, the maiming of non-combatants. V.D. be- 
lieves that his country will take strong action at this crisis. 
I hope so with all my heart. I’m fond of Americans. 
I’ve had some good friends among them and I’d like to see 
them enforce respect from the other nations looking on. 

“ They’re pouring out their money freely in Red Cross 
work and relief funds and, what’s better, in energy. 
The French know this better than we do. Our eyes are 
on Washington alone. Nedda talks of going to Paris to 
join the host of American women working like Trojans 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


271 


over there. I should think it would do her a lot of good. 
She’s frivolous on the surface, but there’s sound grit 
underneath. It only needed some stimulus to bring out 
the best in her. But the point is : is she strong enough ? 
I’ve talked it over with V.D. and he leaves the verdict in 
rny hands. It’s a pretty big responsibility. He’s wor- 
ried to death about it himself.’’ 

“ I don’t see why he should worry you! You’ve got 
your own burdens to bear.” IsoH was plainly indignant. 
“ After all, he’s her brother.” 

“ Yes, but I’m his oldest friend,” Judy loyally re- 
torted. 

I wish I could do something to help.” Isoel slid down 
from the bed and perched herself on the arm of the chair 
in which Judy was ensconced. 

“ You can’t, my infant. Your course is plain. You’re 
out to make a tyrant of Francis! ” She caught the girl 
round the waist and drew her squarely on to her lap, a 
move intended to mitigate the severity of the coming 
lecture. ‘‘ Now — I’m going to talk to you! Don’t you 
go spoiling him. I’ve seen many a happy marriage 
crocked up in this way. It doesn’t do to give in to a man. 
They don’t respect you in the end. You’ve got to live 
your life with him and not only the honeymoon. Francis 
once told me himself that what he admired in your char- 
acter was its independence. The words he used were 
you ‘ held reserves ’ — your wares not all in the front 
window ! I’d like you to remember this. I believe that 
the real drawback to marriage is that men feel they’ve 
bought the lot. There’s nothing further in the future. 
It’s all very well to love a man but don’t show it too 
plainly or let him have his own way at the loss of per- 
sonal dignity.” 

Isoel was struggling up, vexed by this open speech, but 
Judy held her in a vice. 

“ That’s better,” she said with a chuckle. “ You’ve 
caught my intention nicely.” 

'‘Judy! You’re a beast!” Isoel’s dark eyes were 
flaming. 

No, I’m not. I’m a damned good friend.” She 
stooped and pecked the hot cheeks shamefacedly — a rare 
caress. 


2^2 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


The girl’s anger evaporated. She had had so little 
true affection offered to her in her lonely life that Judy’s 
concession — as, rightly, she judged it — touched her re- 
bellious heart. 

“ I believe you are ! ” She slipped an arm round the 
neck in the stiff collar and gave her friend a sudden hug. 
“And you’ve been such a dear to me! I was utterly 
wretched when you came here and you’ve smoothed my 
way — to everything.” 

“ Then take my warning to heart, old chap. I mean 
it, every word. And I shouldn’t advise the Flinders like 
this. I should pitch her into a man’s arms and thank 
my stars if he held her! But you’re worth a bit of trou- 
ble — and the chance of getting my face smacked. You 
can do it now if it’s any relief ! ” Her jolly laugh pealed 
forth. 

To her surprise she felt instead soft lips pressed to her 
cheek. For a moment she lingered under the spell of this 
spontaneous warm caress. Then she whipped up the slim 
figure and laid her down on the bed. 

“ That’s the proper place for you. You’ve got a long 
journey to-morrow. And I must tuck old Bella up. See 
you early. So long ! ” The door slammed after her. 

Isoel listened to her step dying away down the pas- 
sage. With her head deep in the soft pillow she yielded 
to her weariness for a brief spell of idle dreaming. 

Had she been too lax with Doran? She pressed her 
hands to her hot face. The memory of the scenes at the 
Lido — that earlier one in which she had gained his 
grudging respect and their visit later — rose up accus- 
ingly. 

Did men think more lightly of girls who responded 
freely to their love? What a puzzle life was; full of 
warring sentiments. 

A sudden vision of her mother swept before her. 
Here was one who had given all recklessly and reaped 
in return a barren neglect. 

A cold shiver ran through the girl. How could her 
father have gone away, loving her mother, respecting 
her? Had Miriam been over-generous, too much his 
devoted slave? 

She tried to recall her father’s face. It was blurred 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


27;^ 

across the vista of years. Only a shadowy outline re- 
mained ; the short fair beard and blue eyes, lined beneath 
but full of sparkle. For Dark had kept his good looks 
to a certain degree up to the last, and his evil genius had 
tended to make him not morose but genial and free in 
those hours when he succumbed to his weakness. 

Isocl had been too young to realize his degradation. 
She had never seen her father drunk. For Miriam was 
a careful mother. On many a night had the little child 
been sent unusually early to bed in her small attic under 
the roof and always the morning after received the same 
thoughtful admonition. 

La petite must be sage to-day. The poor father has 
his headache.” 

And the “ poor father ” avoided her, whipped by the 
drunkard’s fitful remorse. 

She had not even mastered the facts concerning the 
man’s public disgrace. She knew that he had left the 
Navy under a cloud but, beyond this, Miriam had 
screened the child from more damning disclosures. 
And as the years rolled on Romance had gilded the mem- 
ories. Miriam had held him up more as a pattern than 
a warning ! 

Isoel must remember her ‘‘ birth,” that her father had 
been a “ gentleman ” ! 

So, though T ruth had been denied her, a certain proper 
pride was bred in the young girl by the knowledge of a 
mysterious heritage. She must always behave as her 

father’s daughter.” 

It saved her from the common infection of whispering 
playmates at her school and later from the confidences 
of work-girls in a lower class. 

She was not blind to intrigue, but she disdained it 
openly. Let them flirt and play with men and go ta 
their “ hops ” and picture-shows ! It was not meet for 
Isoel Dark. Higher things were reserved for her. So 
out of evil had sprung good. Pride had screened her 
from temptation. 

Now, again, she must remember; check back the flood 
of love that the presence of Doran woke in her heart. 
For she had come so fresh to passion, and in her blood 
was the Southern curse and blessing combined — that 


274 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


lack of proportion where Vamore claims its victims — 
that there were moments when her reason was swept 
aside like a straw on the perilous wave of emotion. 

She must remember who she was. Not only Clotilde’s 
mannequin who had succeeded in her ambition but the 
daughter of Gervase Dark. 

Full of this grave resolution and unaware of the para- 
dox — that the daughter of a social outcast should lean 
on her father for moral support — she rose and went 
to the open window, then turned to blow out the candles 
which dimmed the beauty of the night. 

She stepped down on her balcony and gazed at the 
dark line of water stealing through the white bridges to 
join the ripple of the lagoon. The moon was shadowed 
by drifting clouds but beyond these the stars were clear 
in the deep blue of the heavens. Everywhere was the 
sense of silence. 

Yet something was brooding beyond the peace. Over- 
strung and sensitive from a week of piled-up emotions, 
the girl shivered. Was it war? 

Would this perfect fairy scene witness the horrors of 
modern strife and share in the Armageddon? 

The whole world was going mad. What was to be 
the end of it ? She stood there with tears in her eyes. 

Then, as if a friend afar had caught her wireless mes- 
sage for help, a musical voice rose out of the night, rich 
and throbbing, alive with passion. 

It trolled forth carelessly an old sonorous fragment of 
opera : 

La don-na e mo-bile , , 

Some festive, wandering Rigoletto! 

Isoel smiled, her head thrown back, drinking in the 
man’s strong notes that brought such a glowing human 
touch to the cold picture in the moonlight. The singer 
was hidden from her sight but the words reached her, 
clear and gay. 

Mobile ,'' — there it was ! A new weapon of defence. 
Doran should find that his lady’s moods were not all of 
sweet submission. A dimple stole out near her mouth, 
she felt a faint revival of mischief. 

But when she closed the window at last and relit the 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 275 

pair of candles, she studied her face in the glass with a 
fugitive trace of anxiety. 

The dark eyes looked back gravely, purely into her 
own, but violet shadows lay beneath them and the fresh 
young mouth held a hint of pain. 

For she had passed through the crisis that every gen- 
erous woman knows: to measure her splendid gift of 
love by the price she set upon her honour. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


P ARIS seemed greatly changed to Doran, who had 
passed through it, without stopping, on his way to 
Italy, but on IsoH the fine streets, the light, ex- 
hilarating air and, above all, her mother's tongue, acted 
like magic from the first. 

She had slept well in the train, rejoicing in her wagon- 
lit and the absence of an occupant of the second berth, 
unaware that Doran had made this a certainty by secur- 
ing both at the outset. It gave them privacy in the day- 
time and they had passed long hours together watching 
the swift panorama and discussing plans for the days 
ahead. 

Now, as they sat side by side, with the luggage piled 
against their knees and Doran pointed out to her the 
various features of the city, Isoel felt again the thrill 
of this wonderful adventure. Paris — the second magi- 
cal name — caught up like a fallen pearl on the thread 
of her wanderings, and exquisite in the early light. 

They crossed the big boulevards and came at last to 
the long arcade of shops in the Rue de Rivoli, where 
women were taking down the shutters, or sweeping the 
pavements busily, and sprinkling them with handfuls 
of water, passed the Louvre and the Tuileries gardens 
and on into the great white Place de la Concorde where 
the statue of Strasbourg marked the heights of the na- 
tion's pain in the past and infinite hope for the future. 

Doran told Isoel how, in the first exhilarating ad- 
vance of the French army in Alsace, the patriots had 
torn down the mourning wreaths of faced beads and 
wrapped about the carved figure the sacred folds of the 
Tricolour. 

Down the wide Champs-Elysees motors already were 
skimming fast filled with staif-officers and busy dark- 
browed officials; ambulance waggons moved slowly 
and a squad of pioupious swung past in the new delicate 
bleu celeste, chosen, so the soldier explained, for its 
vanishing qualities in the dark. 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


277 


These were the only youthful men she saw in the 
whole of their long drive from the Gare de I’Est to the 
little hotel recommended to her by Judy. For Paris, 
recovering fast from the scare of a second siege at the 
hands of the now checked host of barbarians sweeping 
across from the North, seemed to be held in trust by 
women and a few grey-haired veterans, who had taken 
over all forms of work, even to watering the streets. 

Wide-eyed, Isoel watched members of her own sex, 
with skirts trussed up over heavy boots, skilfully ma- 
nipulating the long hose run on wheels and regulating 
the flood of water in and out of the passing traffic. 
Here was none of the coquetry of the girls at home at- 
tempting war-work, fussy about their uniforms and the 
vexed question of breeches or skirts. The women 
worked bare-headed for the most part, in the old frocks 
which had served them in private life, and down the 
pavements unceasingly came the long stream of widows 
and mothers garbed in crape, mourning their dead yet 
taking up their men's burdens. 

It seemed pitiful in the sunshine, with the trees burst- 
ing into leaf, and the spicy sweetness of the breeze as 
it sang past the white buildings of the coming of the 
spring; yet, through it all, ran the spiritual note of a 
resurrection. France had risen again from the grave 
of much that was undermining her moral, a nation at 
one in the face of danger, and her great heart throbbed 
to the note of battle. 

A little group of wounded men came hobbling into 
the Rond Point. A flower-girl, fresh from the mar- 
kets, paused to exchange a cheery greeting and broke 
off a bright blossom from her loaded basket offering it 
to the foremost of the party. 

They could not hear what she said but they saw her 
laugh and pass on. No coin had changed hands though 
her daily bread depended on it. 

** She gave it him,*’ said Isoel softly as they turned 
up a narrow street. ** I see now why they call this place 
the Elysian Fields.” Her eyes were shining. I’ve 
fallen in love with Paris already! Pm so glad I’m 
staying here. Only I wish you could be with me.” 

** So do I.” He looked rueful. ** Never mind I We’ll 


278 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


come back together at the first chance. It’s a good old 
place! I love it too.” 

They dre-w up at the little hotel. A woman porter 
answered the door. Isoel had engaged her room and 
she went up to inspect it. The windows looked down 
into a court opening out of the busy kitchen and here 
again were women at work, the masculine element re- 
placed. 

“Aren’t they splendid?” she said to herself. “We 
talk about our ‘ sacrifices ’ but we don’t know yet what 
it really means when a whole nation goes to war.” 

Doran had proclaimed his intention of having a bath in 
the hotel and Isoel was glad to change out of her dusty 
travelling clothes. They met downstairs, an hour later, 
and explored the quaint little place, bare but scrupulously 
clean, presided over by Madame Bon who had given the 
pair a hearty welcome and, as Judy said, “ lived up to 
her name.” 

“ How nice you look ! ” His grey eyes ran over the 
girl admiringly. “ Now, where would you like to go to 
lunch? Some smart place, I suppose.” 

‘ ‘Where do you want to go yourself ? ” She had 
caught the doubtful intonation of his voice in the latter 
phrase. “ Haven’t you any favourite haunt ? ” 

“ Well, I have. But what about you ? It’s an artist’s 
place across the river where I used to go with my old 
Dad.” He looked at her dubiously. 

“ Do you think me such a Philistine ? ” She laughed 
gaily. His face cleared. 

“ The food used to be pretty good but I don’t know 
what it’s like in war-time. Will you risk it?” 

'' Bien sur!'' 

“ And I’ll take you to Noel Peter’s for dinner. Si ga 
vous plait, mademoiselle. How do you like my Parisian 
accent ? ” 

“ It’s shocking ! ” She spoke teasingly. “It gave me 
a shiver down my spine to hear you tell the man at the 
douane that you had ri-ang d declairer' ! ” 

Doran grinned. 

“ Well, come in here and give me a lesson before we 
start.” He backed into the reading-room, a dark little 
hole and empty of guests. 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 




But Isoel saw through the manoeuvre. 

^ “ ril teach you as we go along. It’s easier in the open 
air.” Her pretty face was mischievous. 

“ We haven’t many hours together,” he warned her 
and she relented. 

But he only snatched the briefest kiss before she 
escaped. He felt aggrieved. It strengthened his de- 
termination to hurry her into an early marriage. 
She listened demurely to his reasons for this step as they 
rattled along towards the Rue de la Paix where Doran 
‘‘ thought ” they might find a shop with some “ decent 
rings ” — an estimate quickly justified. 

They entered a famous portal with the air of two con- 
spirators and were greeted by an elderly man with a 
white “ imperial ” and courtly manners. 

He apologized for the empty cases lining the elabo- 
rate walls. They had just reopened their Paris branch, 
having removed most of their treasures during the scare 
to their maison at Havre. 

“ If Monsieur will give me a moment’s grace, I will see 
what we hold in the safe.” He divined a wealthy cus- 
tomer and added, with flattering nonchalance, The 
rings in the window do not count. They are pour tout 
le monde I ” 

In the end they chose a square emerald set round with 
rows of brilliants. It reminded the girl of the little clasp 
on Doran’s first gift to her. 

She was a trifle awed by the size and beauty of the 
new jewel. The courtly Frenchman disappeared with a 
smiling excuse and gave the lover the chance he wanted, 
to slip the ring on to the slim finger. 

“ There — Now you’re really mine ! ” He laughed, 
but his eyes were tender. 

“ It’s too lovely ! ” She bent her head and kissed the 
stone with childish delight. “ I wish — ” She peeped 
through the door into the room behind and saw the pro- 
prietor returning. “ That must keep,” she said de- 
murely. 

Doran was in a generous mood. He turned to the 
man. 

“ I should like to see something else. To wear round 
the neck,” he added vaguely. 


28 o 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


** Mais out, Monsieur, Madame perhaps has already 
pearls? If not — ” He was off, smiling and rubbing 
his hands. 

‘‘ YouVe gone up a step.” Doran chuckled as he saw 
Isoel’s look of wonder. “ He takes you now for my 
wife — minus a wedding-ring ! ” 

“ A courtesy you’ve already paid for.” She laughed 
back enjoying the fun. “ I really ought to drag you 
away before any further extravagance.” 

“No, you don’t! I’m out to squander. I think I’ll 
explain that you’re my aunt — my maiden aunt. What’s 
the French for it?” 

“ I shan’t tell you ! ” She sobered down. “ Do be 
good ! He’ll think us mad.’ ’ 

But Doran, incorrigible, stooped and whispered in her 
ear. 

“ Heavens, no I ” She had to laugh. *Marraine * 
means ‘godmother,’ and the other word is — impossi- 
ble!’^ 

“ Sounds all right to me,” said the soldier. 

They examined the little velvet tray on which were 
spread three rows of pearls, two in graduated sizes and 
the third even and perfectly matched. 

Isoel held them up to her throat and peered in the 
ornate mirror. 

“ I think I like the last one best.” 

The jeweller smiled. 

“ Madame has reason. Those — they are pas trop 
mal, but these now — ” He retrieved the necklace. 
“Here are pearls with a history! A client of ours in- 
structs us to sell, a well-known countess and connois- 
seur. They were picked up one by one, not so much for 
size but colour and for their perfect shape. Monsieur 
will secure a bargain; our client sells them at a loss. 
Mais, que voulez-vous? Cest la guerre! ” He shrugged 
his thin pointed shoulders. 

Doran examined the string himself. 

“ You like them? ” he asked his fiancee. 

“ I should think I do ! But I’m quite sure they’ll 
prove more than you ought to give.’ 

“ Well, we’ll see about that. You go outside and 
look at the window whilst we discuss business.” 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


281 


He drove her, laughing, from the shop and returned 
to go into figures. 

After a little argument the jeweller wrote out a guar- 
antee and Doran gave him a draft on Cook’s. 

“ You’d better send round and cash it now, or ring 
them up. We can wait. Madame will like to wear them 
away and I’m only in Paris until to-night.” 

He went out to Isoel with a solemn face. 

“ Too expensive. Sorry, old lady.” 

“ It doesn’t matter.” She managed to smile. 
“ I don’t want them. I’ve got my ring — my lovely 
ring.” 

“ What a little sportsman you are ! ” He explained 
his mischievous deception. 

Her gratitude was pretty to see. Then with flushed 
cheeks and shining eyes she drew him to the broad win- 
dow. 

“ I want to give you a present too. Some little thing. 
What would you like? ” She looked up at him wistfully. 
He guessed that she felt her poverty; she could not make 
him a fitting return. 

“I don’t want anything — but yourself!” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” He saw that he must be careful not to 
wound her sensitive pride. “ I’ve been looking at a pair 
of links. I thought it rather a nice idea. Those — ” 
She pointed them out to him. 

Doran was seized with a happy thought. 

“By Jove, I forgot! One minute.” He went back 
into the shop. 

She could see him over the velvet curtain that screened 
the space behind the glass sacred to the trays of jewels, 
talking quickly across the counter. Then he returned to 
her side. 

“ Awfully rude of me to bolt. It was something about 
the cheque. Now let’s look. Are those they? Well, 
I’d rather have the set next to them — those plain ones. 
Yes, honestly, I mean it. But don’t go throwing your 
money away. Find out the damage first. I’ll have a 
cigarette.” 

She went in nervously. To her surprise and relief the 
figure was most moderate, quite within the reach of her 
purse. She never knew that the price quoted was only 


282 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


a third of the actual cost, the rest added by arrangement 
to her generous lover’s bill. 

The jeweller tactfully explained that in these days of 
a dearth of men there was not much demand for links 
and that he was glad to reduce the stock. 

Doran avoided the man’s eye as he solemnly wrapped 
up the present. Later the beautiful string of pearls was 
fastened round the girl’s throat and they went out into 
the sunshine as happy as youth and love could make 
them. 

“ That’s part of my wedding present,” he explained as 
they walked down into the Place Vendome. “ You’d 
better wear them day and night. Don’t go leaving them 
about. Besides it improves the colour. In Italy the 
great ladies lend their pearls to their foster sisters to 
wear whilst working at the vintage. The sunshine and 
their healthy skins bring back the old lustre.” 

‘‘ How curious.” Her voice was absent. She had 
paused to gaze at a hat-shop. 

Doran followed her glance and smiled. 

‘‘That’s rather jolly — that big black one. Come 
along in and I’ll give it you.” 

“ No. You’re getting too reckless. Isn’t it nearly 
time for lunch?” She turned his thoughts in another 
direction. 

“Hungry? So am I. I’ve just realized the fact.” 
He beckoned to a passing taxi. “ Jump in.” He di- 
rected the man. 

They drove across the shining Seine and along the 
quays for a short distance then up a narrow street until 
they came to the restaurant. One new and strange fea- 
ture of Paris that had struck Doran on his arrival was 
the fact that the cafes instead of spreading out across 
the pavement had shrunk back into their shells, like a 
snail in rough weather. 

No longer were the outside tables and chairs monopo- 
lized by all classes, drinking their “ bock ” or their 
absinthe and watching the stream of passers-by. tlere 
and there a solitary old man or a pair of women sought 
a brief moment of rest over a modest cup of coffee, but 
the Boulevard habit was broken through, the life of the 
streets completely altered. 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


283 


Outside the Nain Noir a couple of American artists 
were gathered forlornly over their drinks and a waiter 
hovered in the doorway, a frail old figure, past his prime. 

As the taxi stopped, he came forward, a soiled napkin 
over his arm. 

Monsieur desire? He raised a pair of eyes, sur- 
prisingly blue, but watery above pouches of loose skin 
denoting ill-health. 

Doran asked for the patron. The waiter threw out 
his hands. Monsieur had not heard then? The good 
Monsieur Jolivard was dead. Three months since — a 
great loss. But his wife carried on the business. 

Would Monsieur come this way? He would find 
Madame at the desk. 

They followed him into the restaurant, a little sobered 
by the news, and found the good lady enthroned on a 
high stool in the little box which suggested a pulpit, the 
big ledger taking the place of the Bible. 

Tiens! Cest Monsieur Doran?' She slid down, 
surprisingly agile, and forced her way through the 
narrow door, her fat face wreathed in smiles. 

Doran held out his hand. 

“ fa marche toujours? " But his voice grew grave as 
he added a word of sympathy. 

Mais oui, Monsieur! One does what one can!*’ 
She shrugged her shoulders with simple courage. ‘‘ My 
brave Jacques — gone — like that! But with little suf- 
fering, Dieu merci! It was the shock that finished him. 
First his brother and then Pierre — our youngest-born. 
This war takes all. But they died pour la patrie." Her 
head went up. “ One would not wish it otherwise.** 

Doran was moved by her fortitude. 

‘‘ They learn to be brave from their mothers.** 

She smiled and left the remark unchallenged. 

“ Monsieur, too, has had his griefs ? One heard of it 
in the Quartier. Monsieur has my sincere regrets.** 

She glanced sideways at Isoel. Doran introduced the 
girl, adding proudly, Ma fiancee." 

'‘La, la, la!" Madame beamed. “It is as it should 
be — • the dark and the fair. And a wife is a sure refuge 
in trouble. Monsieur is wise. He would like his old 
table?*’ 


284 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Doran laughed. 

Quelle memoire! ” 

She tapped her forehead, heavily powdered, under its 
crown of sleek black hair — too black for her years — 
and gave him a coquettish glance. 

** One keeps it here — for the good clients. Monsieur 
is not to be forgotten.^^ Then led the way to a quiet 
corner with a window open upon the street. 

“ What are you going to give us to eat ? ” Doran 
picked up the menu. 

The patronne willingly guided his choice. 

An omelet aux fines herbes followed by the plat du 
jour, a. ragout — she could recommend it — and then a 
dish of petits pois — almost the first, small but sweet — 
a cream cheese that came from a farm beyond Courbe- 
voie, kept by her sister — and cafe double — she would 
see to that. 

“Excellent,’* Doran decided after consulting Isoel. 
“Now, what shall we drink?” 

La mire Jolivard glanced round for the wine-card. 

“Where is that Gustave? Bon Dieu! The trouble 
one has to find a waiter at all in these days. And this 
one there is nothing more than an imbecile!^* 

But at last everything was settled. The stout black- 
robed figure retired to sit at the receipt of custom. They 
watched her force her massive hips sideways into the 
cramped space. It was an uncommonly tight fit. 

Doran caught Isoel’s eye and winked. 

“ But such a good soul ! The stand-by of needy ar- 
tists in the quartier, so my father told me. I’m glad we 
came here to-day. I only hope it won’t bore you ? ” 

“No, I love it. It’s so homely. A place I could come 
to by myself. I shall make friends with Madame Joli- 
vard and wander back when I feel lonesome.” 

The tables were slowly filling up with habitues, mostly 
artists, elderly men, with here and there a commergant, 
or a lawyer, black jlortfolio under his arm. They all 
looked grave and distrait. There was none of the stu- 
dent element. Gustave was immensely busy, assisted by 
a squat youth in a full man’s suit, accordion-pleated 
about his legs and bony arms. 

Doran tried to attract the waiter and hurry him up 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


285 


with the wine, but the frail old figure was very flurried. 

“ He’s a funny-looking old chap, isn’t he ? ” said tho 
soldier. ‘‘ I should say he’d seen better days. Some- 
thing about the cut of his head.” 

Isoel idly followed his glance. Gustave was framed 
against the light that poured in through the broad win- 
dows. The profile was almost aristocratic with its finely 
modelled Roman nose and straight brow which warred 
with the loose and tremulous old mouth beneath and the 
clean-shaven weak chin. The man had long nervous 
hands, small boned and refined, though coarsened by 
hard work and constant dipping in greasy water. 

“ Yes, he’s above the usual class. He looks ill, poor 
old thing, as if his legs would give way. See, he can 
hardly carry that tray.” 

Her voice was very pitiful as Gustave passed, stagger- 
ing under a pile of plates and dishes. 

Doran checked him, repeating his order. 

“ Oui, Monsieur, tout de suite! ” His eyes lingered on 
the girl and the sympathy in her pretty face. 

“ Don’t hurry him,” she whispered. I’m not a bit 
thirsty, really. Why ! ” she gazed, a little surprised 
after the shuffling figure. ** He knows English — I’m 
sure he does! He looked so grateful for a moment.” 

“That carries out my theory. He’s had a decent 
education.” 

The talk drifted to other subjects. They arranged 
that the soldier should wire at once after the verdict 
of the Board, and that Isoel should then decide the day 
of her departure from Paris. 

“ Where shall you stay when you get to town ? ” 
Doran asked. “ Have you any plans ? ” 

“ Yes. I shall go to an hotel. I rather thought of 
the Russell/* 

For, many a time, in her long walks round her old 
neighbourhood, had the big building attracted her and 
this would be quite close to Patty and facilitate her ar- 
rangements. She would keep her promise if possible 
and slip across for the first night to that bare but fa- 
miliar room for a gossip with her old comrade. 

“ It’s rather out of the way,” said Doran. 


S86 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


‘‘ It’s not far from my church. Our Lady of France, 
she said quickly. 

“Is that in Soho?” 

“ Yes.” She coloured. “ It’s French, you see.” 

Doran nodded. 

“ And you’d like to be married there ? ” 

She thought swiftly for a moment. Was this a wise 
move ? Then she remembered that the priest who 
knew her family history had been moved to another 
parish. She smiled at Doran. 

“ Yes, I should. But I’m not really particular. It’s 
just as you like.” 

“ ril see to it.” 

The waiter came back with the wine and the second 
course. He hovered round Isoel with marked attention. 
Doran observed it and chaffed her. 

“ You’ve made a conquest. He can’t keep his eyes 
off you! I don’t wonder.” He raised his glass and 
drank a silent toast to her. “After this we’ll have a 
drive in the Bois, then home to tea and a little rest 
before dinner. How does that arrangement suit you ? ” 

She left it happily in his hands and they carried it 
out in due course. 

Skirting the river they bowled along and crossed the 
bridge at Mendon, winding about until they came to the 
Cascade, where they found the busy restaurant shut up, 
another sign of the times. 

In the long Allee des Acacias they only passed a single 
carriage, but by the lake were waggonettes crowded with 
wounded soldiers enjoying the warm afternoon and the 
tender green of the young leaves. 

The broad shining sheet of water delighted Isoel and 
she tried to follow Doran’s description of the scene 
prior to the war; the lines of carriages and fiacres filled 
with smartly dressed people, the tan rides gay with horse- 
men, and here and there a wedding cortege, the bride 
radiant beneath her veil and the jeune marie stiff and 
proud in evening dress, like a strayed waiter. 

The only familiar feature remaining to the Avenue du 
Bois was the presence of innumerable children, often, 
alas, garbed in black, and the nou nous with their white 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


287 


caps and floating ribbons in bright tartan. Here and 
there a withered old woman was selling balloons or plying 
her trade in gaufres, the children dragged reluctantly 
past the little wheel by their stern guardians. 

But over it all hung the cloud of war. Paris, no longer 
the fine lady, had settled grimly down to work. 

They carried out their earlier programme ; dined at the 
pleasant restaurant in the quiet Passage des Princes, 
walked along the Boulevards as far as the Madeleine, 
ghostly amidst the darkened streets and picked up a bat- 
tered fiacre which set them down at their hotel. Doran 
had persuaded the girl to relinquish her project of see- 
ing him off. He had a man’s intimate horror of fare- 
wells at a railway station. As they passed the bureau he 
paused for a word with Madame Bon, always ready for 
a gossip. 

Void une lettre pour Mademoiselle ^ She produced 
from the evening’s courrier a square envelope directed 
in Sir Abel Groot’s hand. “ A pity that Monsieur is not 
staying.” 

“ We will come again,” Doran assured her. “ Is 
Mademoiselle allowed in the fumoirf ” He guessed they 
would have it to themselves. 

“ But of course ! Monsieur desires a cab — at what 
hour ? ” 

He gave the directions and they passed on to the little 
room at the back of the Salle-d~manger which had an un- 
used air. For most of the clientele now consisted of 
elderly ladies, nurses and children. 

“ This is fine.” He glanced round him and pulled two 
rocking-chairs side by side. “ Read your letter and then 
we’ll talk.” For he saw she was studying the address. 

She was wondering if Sir Abel Groot had forwarded 
the precious money, a little anxious on the point. 

Doran picked up a paper off the nearest table and 
started to read. Then, as the girl drew out the enclosure, 
something slipped from the folded page and fluttered 
down to his feet. He stooped and reclaimed it. It was 
a cheque for a hundred pounds made out to “ Miss Isoel 
Dark ” and signed clearly “ Abel Groot.’ 

He held it out to her silently, a growing wonder in his 
heart. 


1288 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


“ Thanks/’ She glanced at it and smiled but offered 
no explanation. It did not occur to her that her lover 
might be curious. She was too relieved to find herself 
in funds again, fully prepared to launch forth on her 
trousseau. 

“ You’d better not leave that about.” Doran’s voice 
was purposely careless. 

“ No.” She slipped the cheque in the letter and put 
both, with a little laugh, down the opening of her blouse. 

That’s safe.” Her cheeks were warm with a touch of 
excitement as she thought of the precious dot fulfilling 
the purpose of her dreams. She would not disgrace him 
by shabby clothes. “ I shall buy that black hat,” she 
thought. “ The one he admired in the window.” Then 
she glanced up at him, conscious of his steady silence. 

“There’s something I want to say.” He fidgeted, 
plainly embarrassed. 

“ Well ? ” She slipped a hand into his, smiling. “ Out 
with it, mon vieux/^ 

“You’re all right about funds?” he asked, rather 
jerkily, adding, “ I mean, it’s not so easy to cash cheques 
in Paris now.” All the time at the back of his head 
rang that odd name, “ Abel Groot,.” It seemed in some 
way familiar. 

Could he be the girl’s trustee, under Lady Manister’s 
will? His face cleared at the thought. 

As she did not answer at once he went on more hap- 
pily. 

“ I wish you’d let me be your banker, pro tern. You 
can pay me back.” For he knew that her pride would 
resent a gift. “ Just until you get to England. I can 
give you a draft on Cook’s here. You’d find it a per- 
fectly simple affair.” 

Merci, non! I’ve plenty of money.” Her head 
went up at the suggestion. “ I’ve just received a cheque 
from town with full instructions how to cash it.” 

“ Well, don’t be vexed with me, old girl ! I’m worried 
enough at leaving you.” He slipped a strong arm about 
her. “ Say you’ll miss me a little ? ” 

“ Horribly ! I can’t believe that this is our last hour 
together.” She leaned across and kissed his cheek, re- 
penting her sudden touchiness. What a dear he was to 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


289 


think of all that concerned her peace and comfort. 
“But I can’t borrow. I never have. Even from you! 
It’s a fad of mine.” 

“And a very good one,” laughed Doran. “Listen, 
there’s one thing more. If we’re married in a hurry, and 
there seems every likelihood, is there anyone I have to 
consult about your marriage settlement? Have you a 
lawyer or trustee ? ” 

“ No. I’m quite alone in the world.” 

His smiling face clouded over. Who the devil was 
Abel Groot? 

“ I see.” 

She felt the change in him with the instinctive knowl- 
edge of love. 

“ You’d rather I had people behind me? ” 

Her dark eyes were slightly wistful. But they met his 
grey ones so candidly that he called himself a brute to 
doubt her. 

“ Except for your own sake, darling, I’m very thank- 
ful that you haven’t. I think * in laws ’ must be a trial 
and I like to feel I have the right to the whole of you. 
I’m foolishly jealous. There were times when I wanted 
to kick Phipps ! ” 

This made her laugh. The little cloud that had threat- 
ened their happiness dispersed. They talked of the old 
days at Venice and then, as the inexorable hands of the 
hotel clock moved forward to the hour of parting, they 
grew silent. 

“ Now.” Doran rose to his feet. He moved across 
to the door and set his shoulders squarely against it to 
prevent any unwelcome invasion. “ Come and kiss me — 
properly.” 

They clung together for a moment. When she drew 
back he saw that the tears were glittering on her long 
lashes. 

“ You’ll cross the moment I wire for you ? ” His own 
yoice was suspiciously husky. 

She nodded her head, blinking hard. 

“And you’ll marry me — without delay? Next week 
if I think it wise? ” 

“Yes.” 


290 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


He swung her off her feet in a grateful hug that 
brought from her lips a swift breathless cry for mercy. 
“ Francis ! You’re killing me ! ” 

He put her down, flushed and smiling, and gave a low 
laugh of triumph. 

“There! You see. I’m not a weakling — after all! ” 
Then he opened the door. “ Don’t come out — stay here. 
But write to-morrow to Holly Walk — without fail. I 
shall get the letter on my arrival. Take care of your 
dear self. God bless you ! ” 

He was gone. 


CHAPTER XXy 


dear, are you awake?’* Bella’s voice was 
I very feeble. 

A crumpled figure on the sofa unrolled itself 
from a blanket and pattered across to the bed. 

“ Anything wrong, old girl ? ” 

“ No, only I feel so restless. I wonder what time it 
is.” 


Judy already had lighted the lamp. Her face looked 
worn and very anxious. 

“ Have a spoonful of Liebig’s jelly? ” 

Bella smiled. 

“ I think I will. Dear me, it’s only four ! How slowly 
the night goes.” 

“ It will soon be dawn,” Judy soothed her. She 
looked a quaint masculine figure in pyjamas striped grey 
and blue, her thick short hair ruffled above the wide 
brows and candid eyes. “ Now then,” she slipped an 
arm under the pillow carefully and propped up the in- 
valid as she fed her. ‘‘ That’s right. Now, another one. 
How d’you feel, old lady?” 

For Bella had had a second attack of fainting the day 
before and the doctor had warned the younger sister that 
his patient’s condition was serious. 

“ Rather weak and fluttery,” Bella helplessly admitted. 
Her pale blue eyes seemed more sunken and her lips had 
an ominous grey tinge. 

Judy glanced again at the clock. Too soon for the 
medicine. 

Well, if that doesn’t pull you together we’ll give you 
a little drop of brandy. You look &tter than you did.” 
She tried to lie cheerfully. 

Bella leaned back, her eyes half closed. 

“ I’m keeping you awake,” she murmured. 

“ I wasn’t asleep,” said Judy quickly. She sat down 
on the chair by the bed, patted her sister’s flaccid hand 
291 


292 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


and then slipped her fingers higher feeling for the feeble 
pulse. 

Bella waited for the verdict. 

“ Going strong/’ Judy informed her. “ We’ll soon get 
you round, old chap. What you want is a change of air. 
Venice is getting a bit relaxing.” 

For she knew that the timid creature was fretting over 
the imminent prospect of war and their nearness to the 
frontier feeling that nowhere was she safe from the 
menace of Armageddon. It worried Judy considerably 
too ; for Bella was unfit to travel and the slightest alarm 
might prove fatal. Despite her own strong courage she 
quailed before the possibility of an attack on the island 
city by sea or air, not for herself but for its effect on the 
invalid. 

‘‘ I’m quite happy here,” said Bella somewhat unex- 
pectedly. “ We needn’t worry — about plans. Not yet. 
Wait and see.” Her voice trailed off as if the effort of 
speech was too much for her strength. 

“ Well then, you must get to sleep.” Judy proceeded 
to turn out the lamp. 

The room was shrouded in heavy shadows thrown by 
the primitive night-light, a wick in a little saucer of oil, 
placed in the washing basin. It sent a grotesque 
silhouette of Judy on to the farther wall, with a big 
nose and a tuft of hair standing upright upon her head. 

Bella made no direct rejoinder. She seemed to be 
murmuring to herself. The anxious watcher bent and 
listened to the weak disjointed speech. 

“ Always the same,” Bella whispered. “ Kind and 
thoughtful — a good sister.” 

Judy recoiled, her face working. She was stung by a 
sudden dart of remorse. Many a time had she made 
fun of the other’s hypochondriacal ways and used her own 
forcible will not exactly as a bully but as a master, to 
stir Bella out of her nervous lethargy. Now she re- 
pented her moments of harshness. 

The misty blue eyes opened wide and met the brown 
ones. Bella smiled. 

“ I feel better,” she said faintly. “ Don’t sit up, Judy 
dear.” 

At this evidence of unselfishness the woman beside hei; 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


293 

yielded to a sudden impulse of affection. She stooped 
quickly and kissed her sister. 

“ Oh, Judy ! ” The rare caress startled Bella. Heij 
lips quivered. “ I believe you’re really fond of me.” 

Judy gulped in her throat. 

‘‘If you don’t know it by now, old chap, you ought 
to.” Her voice was gruff. “ I’m going to stay here for 
a bit just to watch you tumble off. So try and rest.” 
She laid her hand over the one on the counterpane. 

“Yes,” said Bella. “I’m tired, but — ” Judy bent to 
catch the word lost in the soft pillow. “ Happy ” was 
what it sounded like. 

The fingers under hers stirred weakly and clasped hei| 
own. It was like a child’s silent call for protection. 

Judy’s tightened. With all her will she tried to pass 
on some of her strength to the huddled figure by her; 
side. 

Silence fell on the dim room, save for the short la- 
boured breath of the invalid. Judy stared hopelessly 
across to the window, where a faint fugitive line of light 
showed between the warped shutters. Thank God, the 
dawn was breaking. She could hear the clock ticking 
away on the marble mantelpiece. It sounded feverish 
as though it, too, prayed for morning. 

Her thoughts became practical. She must get thei 
doctor round early. She didn’t like the look of things. 
Surely there must be some drug more powerful than this 
medicine? And could she get some good beef tea? She 
didn’t fancy this tinned jelly. She must see the Signora 
and insist. Miss Flinders was a fool ! 

Somewhere afar a campanile chimed slowly the hour' 
again and the basket chair by the window creaked as 
though it awoke to life. A breeze slipped down the rio 
and rattled an unfastened shutter with the imp-like quali- 
ties of wind that finds a city wrapped in slumber. 

Suddenly she felt a quick spasmodic pressure on her 
hand. She bent closer in alarm, but Bella seemed to be 
asleep. 

“ Muscular,” she said to herself. “Just a jerk as she 
went off. But how feeble her breathing is ! I wish I’d 
given her some brandy. Still, sleep’s the best cure.” 
She took a grip upon her nerves. 


294 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Slowly the hours crawled on. A dull pain was in her 
arm; her head throbbed and her bare feet were as cold 
as ice, but she dared not move. 

In an odd way it relieved the strain to feel that she was 
suffering too. Poor old Bella ! What a life. Her 
thoughts went back to the old days and her sister’s prim 
prettiness before the blow that broke her spirit. 

The doctor had said ‘‘ no stamina.” It would take 
days to build her up. And meanwhile at any moment 
Italy might be plunged in war. She began to wonder if 
there were a decent hotel at Padua. That would be 
away from the sea and they could get from there to 
Bologna and on into Switzerland by easy stages, via 
Turin. 

The glimmer of light at the window spread and 
gathered strength until she could see tiny dancing motes 
of dust caught up in its stream. 

But the heavy silence seemed to increase. It weighed 
upon her like a portent. And then, in a blinding flash 
of pain, she realized that no sound came from the quiet 
figure on the bed, no fitful breathing. All was still. 
Bella had passed through the portals of sleep into a 
land of eternal rest. 

Van Began, always an early riser, was busy upon his 
latest portrait, when he heard a pebble strike the window 
of the studio oyerlooking the campo. 

Surprised, he laid his palette down and, a brush still 
held between his teeth, opened the casement and leaned 
out. Judy was standing in the square. 

“Good! You’re up. Can I speak to you?” 

He needed no second bidding. 

“ Sure ! ” He ran down the stairs and flung the street 
door wide. 

“ Come right in. I’m glad to see you.” He held out 
his hand and paused, frowning. For Judy’s was icy. 
Even her face looked blue in the early light. “ How cold 
you are.” He drew her through. Then as they stood 
in the narrow passage. “ What’s wrong ? ” he asked 
gravely. 

“ I’ll tell you in the studio. If we can have it to our- 
selves.” 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


295 


He nodded his head and led the way silently up the 
steep stairs where a fortnight since the gay crowd of 
guests had passed, Judy among them, absurd in her 
huge wooden sabots. 

She was dressed now with her usual care, her monocle 
swinging from its cord, her grey suit brushed and speck- 
less. But about her for the first time he noticed the 
shadow of the years. Her physical energy was unflag- 
ging but her spirit was that of middle age. 

Because his love was of the kind that sees in the loved 
one an ideal, the reflection purely of character independ- 
ent of outward beauty, age had no power to lessen it, 
and the knowledge that she was in sore trouble awoke in 
him an answering thrill of protection hitherto denied him 
by the virile note of her temperament. He loved her the 
more in that she came instinctively to him in her need. 

Judy breathed a sigh of relief when she found herself 
safe in the studio. It was all so exactly like “ V.D.” 
The sense of space and quiet reflection and workmanlike 
simplicity, a shade ascetic but withal wholesome. 

“ Now.*^ He pushed a chair forward. 

She sat down and crossed her legs. 

“ Bella’s dead.” Her voice was abrupt. 

“ Gee ! ” He stared at her aghast. The news was 
utterly unexpected. 

“ Yes. Don’t sympathize.” She put up a hand to 
ward off any attempt in this direction. “ There’s a lot 
to arrange. I want your help.” 

“ You can count on that.” His slate-blue eyes were full 
of the things he dared not say. For he understood this 
woman he loved. 

“ Then give me a drink,” said Judy gruffly. The room 
was playing her queer tricks, the floor dancing up and 
down. She had not realized before how those last pite- 
ous offices to the dead had tried her nervous strength. 
Everywhere she could see that face, noble, with its fixed 
smile that seemed to speak of a hidden triumph, and 
strangely young, rise up before her and the meek grace 
of the folded hands. 

Van Degan went across to a cupboard, produced 
spirits and a glass and filled it up with bottled water. 
She drank it down to the dregs. 


296 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


“ Thanks. Sorry to trouble you, but I felt just a bi£ 
rocky.” 

She drew out her big bandanna and blew her nose 
vigorously. 

“ Died in her sleep,” she said from behind the gaudy 
brown and yellow screen. “ Painless. Heart failed. I 
was beside her — luckily. Now I want things decent. 
No one knows. I took the key. What I can’t stand ” — ' 
her face worked — ‘‘is the damned fuss in the pension. 
Sure to be one. What can I do ? ” 

“Leave them to me,” said Van Began grimly. “I 
reckon this is a man’s job.” He adopted her own non- 
chalant manner. “ Give me a minute to get things 
fixed.” He strode across to the window and stared out. 
Behind his back his hands were gripped and she saw 
the knuckles gleaming white and prominent. It was the 
only visible mark of emotion about the lean figure. 

When he returned his face had cleared. 

“ You’d better go round, pack up and quit. I’ll have 
your room ready, next to Nedda’s. It’s small but quiet, 
cool too. That’s the first thing to do.” 

“ But I can’t leave her.” Judy quivered. 

“ No need. I’ll see the doctor and arrange about an 
ambulance. We’ll have the funeral from this house. 
It’s a private matter, I opine. It don’t concern the pen- 
sion.” 

Judy’s eyes opened wide. 

“ Bring her here ? ” she asked slowly. As he nodded 
she rose to her feet. “ Oh, V.D. ! ” It was a cry of in- 
finite gratitude and relief. Here was sanctity for Bella, 
far from those curious whispering tongues. 

Then sharply she turned away. Her head went down 
on to her hands. She was torn by a spasm of silent sob- 
bing, crueller far than any tears. 

She felt a pair of strong arms, spare and sinewy, folded 
round her. 

“ Judy, Judy ! My dear old pal.” He found by in- 
stinct the right word. 

“ I’m a fool, V.D. ! ” Judy choked. “ But to see her 
snuffed out like a candle ! I didn’t expect it.” Her 
shoulders heaved. “ Damned fool ! — I haven’t cried — 
not once — up to now. You’ll think me — ” 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


297 


He interrupted her. 

“ I know you. Isn’t that good enough? ” 

She leaned for a moment against his shoulder drink- 
ing in unconsciously his man’s strength, subtly aware of 
the smell of tobacco about his coat and the strong hard 
beat of his heart. 

It quickened and she drew away, winning back her self- 
control, with a last convulsive effort. She stole a nerv- 
ous glance at him. 

The man’s face was irradiated as though a light burnt 
behind, the longing visible in his eyes. His soul lay 
bare for her to read but his lips were silent. He would 
not stoop to win her in her hour of weakness. It warred 
with his sense of chivalry. 

“ You can count on me,” he repeated hoarsely. He 
meant it in more senses than one. 

And Judy, with the quickened instincts that death 
brings to some deeply sincere and loyal natures, guessed 
the conflict in his heart. 

“ I do, old chap — in every way.” The colour rushed 
up to her brow but she would not lower her proud head. 

Van Began made a quick movement towards her, then 
he checked himself. 

“Sure. As if I were — your brother.” Jerkily he 
helped her out. 

“ No.” She stamped her foot on the floor, impatient 
over his obtuseness. Across all her misery came a flicker 
of humour. Here she was, playing again her masculine 
role. “ Shall I have to propose to him ? ” she thought. 

Van Began squared his lean shoulders. 

“Judy.” He spoke in a hoarse voice. “Don’t you 
say anything you’ll regret. I reckon I know how we 
stand. I’ve figured it out pretty straight. There’s no 
need to say I love you. I’ve worshipped you for fifteen 
years. I shall so long as there’s breath in my body. 
But I’d rather have your honest friendship than any 
other woman’s love. I’ve got that. It’s some gift. I 
don’t want anything more — through pity.” He jerked 
his head on the word. 

It was a most eccentric wooing but it went straight to 
Judy’s heart. 

Pity!'' she scoffed. “ I’d see you damned before I’d 


2g8 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


pity you, V.D. ! One gives that sort of thing to weak- 
lings. You’re strong. I thought I was. Perhaps I’ve 
gone on that tack too far. It’s caught me out.” She 
came a step nearer him, a new light in her face. 
‘‘You’re a lonely man?” She was pleading now. 

He nodded his head. 

“ So am I. I’m up against it — hard, old chap. I 
shall make you a rotten bad wife. A figure of fun for 
all the world to laugh at — I know that. It’s kept me 
havering many a day. But I think we’ll get our laugh 
back. And if you want me — ” 

He held her now in a grip that hurt and yet re- 
joiced her. 

“By God, Ido!” 

“ Then take me,” said Judy. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


I SOEL came slowly out of the big door of the ‘‘ Bon 
Marche,” and paused on the threshold to run through 
her list, the last details of her trousseau, 
fo-morrow night would see her in England and on 
Saturday she was to be married. 

Doran had been passed by the Board for home service. 
He was appointed Adjutant to a Reserve Unit stationed 
in the North of England with a week’s further extension 
of leave which would allow for their wedding-day and a 
hurried honeymoon. 

This was all that she knew at present; for, with the 
irregular postal service, no letter yet had reached her, 
though her lover had been extravagant in the matter of 
telegrams. 

Nothing could have suited her better. She had lived 
strung up to the highest tension since the hour of their 
engagement, prepared to answer difficult questions con- 
cerning her people and her past; and, although she had 
been saved this ordeal through Doran’s seeming incuri- 
ousness, she felt there could be no real safety until she 
was legally his wife. She missed his presence, yet was 
aware of a certain relief these last few days, filled with 
a busy round of shopping and golden dreams of the 
future. 

Analyzing her sensations, she discovered that her old 
ambition had taken now a new form, purified by her love 
for Doran. Her one desire was that nothing should 
shake his pride and confidence in herself and that she 
should prove worthy of him — even down to the detail 
of dress. 

With the Gallic instincts strong in her she bought few 
clothes, but those good, quiet in tone and well cut, with 
dainty hand-sewn underlinen. 

“ It’s fortunate that I’m stock size,” she thought as 
she walked down the Rue du Bac. '' There was no time 

299 


300 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


to get things made and Paris isn’t exactly cheap. Any- 
how, not in war-time ! ” 

She paused for a moment before a shop where some 
evening shoes attracted her. 

“I wonder if I could afford those?” She looked at 
them wistfully. “ Better not.” She moved on. 

For her funds were getting rather low and she had no 
idea what it might cost to stay for two nights at the 
Russell where she had engaged a room. 

A whirlwind of dust rose from the street half-blinding 
her, and a fat woman knitting in the open doorway of a 
maison de char cut erie uttered a sharp exclamation and 
followed it up by the remark : 

'' Cest la pluie qui va tomher!' 

Isoel, still blinking, agreed with the good dame’s 
prophecy as she glanced up at the sky. It was veiled by 
scudding clouds, faintly pink at the edges, for the eve- 
ning was drawing in, the sun low on the horizon. 

She was tired by the long period spent in the stuffy 
air of the “ Bon Marche ” and she longed for a good cup 
of tea but knew of no shop in the vicinity. Then a 
happy thought struck her. She would go to the Main 
Noir and indulge in some of their excellent coffee. 

She found the way with little trouble and was greeted 
by Madame Jolivard as an old friend, the garrulous soul 
delighted to find la belle Anglais e ” so proficient in her 
language. 

The restaurant was deserted but Gustave hovered in 
the background, arranging the narrow tables for dinner, 
hiding the splashes on the cloths with clean napkins and 
giving the forks a furtive rub with a duster. 

He came up presently with the brown coffee-pot as 
Madame retired to her desk and to her patient toil at the 
ledger. 

Bon soir, mademoiselle/^ His blue eyes dwelt on the 
girl wistfully, admiring her beauty. So plainly absent- 
minded was he that he filled her cup till it overflowed. 

Madame Jolivard scolded him shrilly from the box. 
But Isoel, watching his shaky hands, poured oil on the 
troubled waters. 

'' fa ne fait rien,” she said gaily. ** I am getting more 
than my share, voyons! One does not expect that in 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


301 

war-time.” Her clear young laugh rang through the 
room. 

“ Mademoiselle is too indulgent.” The patronne was 
mollified. Gustave returned with a clean saucer, tremu- 
lous and apologetic. 

“ Thank you.” She spoke in English purposely and 
the man started. “ You understand? ” 

He shook his head. 

Mademoiselle ditf ” 

But she was not convinced. The little sense of mys- 
tery piqued her. 

“ Have you never been to England ? ” she asked in his 
own tongue. 

‘‘Non, jamais!^* He spoke quickly. “Mademoiselle 
desires sugar ? ” 

He held it suspended above her cup. She noticed his 
worn but well shaped fingers and recalled Doran’s sum- 
ming-up. 

“You are not a native of Paris, are you?” 

He hesitated. 

“ I am from Alsace.” As he saw her eye-brows go up 
in surprise, he went on hastily, “ From a little village 
across the frontier.” He seemed anxious she should be- 
lieve him. 

She nodded her head tranquilly. 

“Then you’ve seen something of the fighting?” 

He mumbled an indistinct reply and retreated. 

“ Mademoiselle will excuse me. I have to prepare 
for the dinner.” 

She watched him with his dragging step return to his 
old occupation. Silence reigned in the quiet space save 
for an occasional murmur from Madame adding her col- 
umn of figures. 

“ Neiif et cinq font quatorze. Et huit — ” She 
flicked it off with her pen. 

Isoel WcxS glad to rest. The coffee was most refresh- 
ing. She wondered if the thin figure, hovering over 
the knives and forks, had suffered a shock through the 
war. The man seemed a bundle of nerves. As Madame 
brought out a triumphant “ vingtdeux/^ Gustave jumped, 
then glanced sideways furtively at the stout lady. A 
blue-bottle came droning in through the wide central 


302 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


window where the glass screens were drawn aside, 
showing a pair of marble tables with the inevitable jars 
of red-headed sulphurous matches and the empty chairs 
on the pavement beyond. Business was evidently slack. 

After a little, as though drawn like a magnet in her 
direction, Gustave wandered back again. In his hand 
was a vase with a wilted pair of the early roses dear to 
the Parisian heart, butter-coloured with long thin stems. 
He placed this down on her table. 

She was touched by the little attention. 

Merci bienJ' She stooped to smell them but they 
were scentless like most forced flowers. A petal dropped 
upon the cloth. She picked it up and examined it. 
“ These won’t be out yet in England. This is my last 
day in France.” 

Mademoiselle returns to London ? ” Again that wist- 
ful admiring glance. 

“ Yes. I am going home to be married.” She smiled 
up at the thin face, sallow and heavily marked by lines. 
Yet once, she thought, he might have been handsome, 
with those blue, blue eyes and the fine arched nose. 

“ Mademoiselle has my best wishes.” He looked at her 
curiously. ‘‘ To the Monsieur, perhaps, who lunched 
here ? ” 

She nodded her head, shyly amused. Had they looked 
such obvious lovers? 

“ Monsieur, sans doute, is in the army ? ” Gustave 
ventured, encouraged by the girl’s friendly attitude. 

‘‘Yes. However did you know?” 

He explained in his old nervous manner. 

“ One sees many English soldiers in Paris. It is a 
type that one recognizes easily. The mark of the drill — ” 

His further words were checked by a sudden ominous 
noise, the distant crash of an explosion. 

Outside in the street people were running, seeking 
shelter, with shrill cries of warning and fear. Madame 
Jolivard had slid with surpassing agility from her stool, 
forced her body through the opening and stood now by 
Isoel’s side. 

“ VitCy mademoiselle! Par ici — ” She dragged the 
girl breathlessly to the rear of the restaurant and into a 
narrow room beyond, dark and screened by a heavy cur- 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


303 


tain. ** Encore une Taube! Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!** 
She sank in a heap on the sofa still clutching IsoB’s arm. 
“ My poor windows ! And glass at a price that one does 
not dare to think about ! ” 

It was evident that her heart was torn more by the 
prospect of expense than by any mere physical danger. 

Ah, del!'' She screamed aloud. For the place 
seemed to rock about them with an ear-splitting roar 
close at hand that was mixed with the acid clatter of 
glass, a dog’s howl and the purring throb of the aeroplane 
beating along above the thin veil of clouds. 

The whole catastrophe had come so swiftly out of the 
evening sky that Isoel had hardly time to realize the full 
peril. She felt instead the curious calm that people of 
highly-strung nerves, apprehensive before the event, so 
often exhibit at such a crisis. 

“ It’s gone now,” she soothed the patronne. “ They 
never come back the same way. I’ve been in a Zeppelin 
raid in London. Rassurez-vous, ma bonne dame," 

Madame Jolivard looked dazed. 

“ My windows — ” she gasped out. “ Once before they 
have played me this trick. Ces sacres Boches!" The 
malediction seemed to bring her to her senses. " Voy- 
ons!" She rose heavily. ‘‘Mademoiselle has a great 
courage. We will go together and inspect.” 

She pulled aside the plush curtain. 

A scene of wreckage met their eyes. The building it- 
self had been spared, ceiling and walls uncracked, but 
only a few splinters remained in the heavy sheets of plate 
glass and the floor was covered with shining fragments. 
Outside one marble-topped table had survived the shock 
but the other had fallen, split in two, by the broken con- 
torted legs of a chair. The bomb had struck the open 
street fifty yards from the restaurant, by a miracle miss- 
ing the clustered houses, boring a great gaping hole. The 
cloud of dust was settling slowly. Through the haze 
Isoel saw something that checked the beat of her heart ; a 
prostrate figure, arms thrown up over its face stretched 
full length close to the corner where she had sat. 

“ Look, look ! ” She pointed, trembling. Madame 
Jolivard followed her glance. 

Mon Dieu, le pauvre! Quel imbecile!" The two 


304 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


phrases jostled each other quaintly as she hurried for- 
ward. “ It must be that a splinter has struck him. To 
stay like that near the windows 1 

A passer-by paused, curious. 

Madame beckoned imperiously. 

V enez done! Give assistance. One must help each 
other in times like these.” 

“ Willingly, Madame.” He crossed the threshold. 
Together they bore their light burden into the parlour at 
the back and laid the body on the sofa. There was no 
scratch on the still grey face from which the blood 
seemed to have ebbed, no outward sign of injury as 
Madame's hands ran over him. 

Yet the head hung limp, the lips parted. “ He is fin- 
ished, that one,” said the man. “ It must have been the 
shock to his heart.” 

“ Incredible ! ” Madame fumed. She pushed up the 
frayed cuff sharply to feel his pulse. Tiens, a sailor! ” 
She stared at his wrist. 

Isoel, white and shaken, stood at the foot of the couch. 
She followed the patronne's surprised glance and saw on 
the thin bony arm a bluish band twisting round it and up- 
ward in a spiral. It was a snake — she caught her breath 
— tattooed on the white flesh ! 

“ It beats,” said Madame triumphantly, her podgy 
fingers on the wrist. ‘Tf Monsieur would be so good as 
to reach for the cognac there, on the second shelf” — she 
jerked her head in the direction — “we will soon put 
some life in him. It is the best, but, que voulez-vousf ” 
She shrugged her shoulders wearily as though, in this 
hour of expense, it were hopeless to count the sous. 

She took the glass from the helpful stranger, propped 
up the waiter's head and began to trickle some of the 
spirit between the discoloured lips. 

''Bon! He swallows.” A faint contraction of the 
emaciated throat where she had loosened the soiled collar 
rewarded her efforts. “ It is a nothing ! He will soon 
be on his legs again.” 

She saw that her unknown friend had glanced anx- 
iously at his watch. 

“ Monsieur est pressef Will he not take a petit verre 
before he goes ? ” 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


305 


The man declined, apologizing. 

“ Madame is good, but one waits for me." 

" Then another day," said the patronne, gracious. 
" Monsieur has done me a great service. I am infinitely 
obliged to him." 

They went deliberately through the correct etiquette of 
farewell. It seemed endless to Isoel, staring down at the 
grey face that showed no reviving symptoms of life. 

At length with a last bow and smile, directed this time 
to the girl and a gallant Au revoir, Madame,'* to the 
patronne the stranger departed. 

They were free to attend to the sick man. 

“ He does not hurry himself," said Madame, discour- 
aged by Gustave's attitude. “If Mademoiselle would 
stay for a minute, I could run across to Monsieur Pitou, 
the pharmacien at the corner. He is a good friend of 
mine and will volunteer his advice. It is but the affair of 
a moment." She glanced keenly at the girl. “ Made- 
moiselle is not afraid?" For IsoH’s face was very 
white. 

“ Not in the least.” She tried to smile. 

“ Mademoiselle is an angel of goodness.” The pat- 
ronne waited for no more. She was off, patting her 
hair into place. For the chemist was an old admirer. 

Isoel watched the curtain fall, then, with a feeling of 
fascination and horror mixed, she knelt down by the side 
of the unconscious man and gazed, trembling, at his wrist. 

Could it be ? Those blue, blue eyes — they had seemed 
in some odd way familiar. 

A little shiver ran through her as they opened wide 
suddenly and gazed into her own dark ones. 

His lips moved. She bent closer. 

“ Miriam ! ” 

She caught her breath. 

“ Yes ? ” She answered him in English, with an effort 
mastering her emotion. 

“ Fetch — the child.” His lids closed ; he seemed to 
relapse into his stupor. 

But now she knew. There was no mistake. It was 
her father lying there. 

Pity and infinite repugnance warred within her, all 
Act dreams blown to the four winds of heaven. 


3o6 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


This, the object of her pride; the parent of gentle 
birth, held up to her as a model by her fond and foolish 
mother; this out-at-elbows wastrel, with the marks of 
drink upon his face, his shrinking, obsequious manners — 
Gervase Dark, her childish hero ? 

For a moment anger gained the day. Then as she 
marked his deathly pallor, his air of shabby misery, a 
nobler instinct arose in her. Tears flooded her sombre 
eyes. 

Her father — brought to such a pass ! 

Could punishment be greater for his desertion of her 
mother. Had he not paid the price? 

She caught, in a sudden inward flash, a glimpse of 
those laws of Cause and Effect that govern Sin, and a 
hell on earth hitherto unknown to her. 

Dark stirred on the narrow sofa. With a fluttering 
breath he came back from the valley of the shadows. 

He gazed at the girl through half-closed lids. 

Mademoiselle f '' 

Again she saw the shrinking apologetic glance. Then 
his face suddenly changed. It seemed to quicken into 
life. For a moment the filmy cloud was raised that ob- 
scured her early memories. Here was the playmate of 
her youth, with his brilliant eyes and fine-cut features. 

“ The child ! ’’ His voice was clear and urgent. 

Her spirit rose to its full courage. 

I’m here — Father'' She clasped his hand. “ It’s 
IsoH. You remember me?” 

A look of wonder and contentment crossed his face. 
He raised himself up. 

‘^Iso’el!" 

With her name on his lips the soul of Gervase Dark 
passed out. 

The events that followed seemed like a nightmare. 
Madame Jolivard bustled in with her friend the chemist 
and found the girl dazed by the side of the dead man. 

Monsieur Pitou, with sound sense, turned his atten- 
tions to the living. They forced Isoel to drink some of 
the famous cognac. 

Madame was full of self-reproaches. She hadn’t ** im- 
agined to herself ” that such a thing could occur. It was 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


307 


“ of the most unforeseen ” ! The worthy old chemist 
reassured her. The man’s life had not been worth “ two 
sous ” for many a day. The shock of the explosion had 
killed him. Madame must not blame herself. Gustave’s 
‘‘ weakness ” was well known in the quartier. Deprived 
of his absinthe by the recent prohibition — and a good 
thing too ! 

He wandered off down this side-track prophesying that 
there would be fewer suicides in France, and lunatics, and 
rickety children. As a chemist parbleu! — he knew. 

Isoel escaped at last from the unceasing buzz of 
chatter, glad to lean back in a springless hacre and let 
the air blow in her face. 

“ I mustn’t think,” she warned herself. “ Not till I 
get to my own room. I daren’t.” She tried to concen- 
trate her mind on the driver’s white hat. 

Why was it white? And so shiny? 

On they went, shaving the curb at the corners in the 
fantastic way in which the cabmen of Paris rejoiced, in 
bygone days, to court danger, before the swift “ autos 
brought an easier method of destruction. For this was 
a veteran thrown beach high by the invading tide of 
war. 

When they drew up at her hotel she overpaid him and 
hurried in, stealthily passing the bureau, up the stairs 
and into her room filled with the grey, regretful twilight. 
Here she turned and locked the door. 

Safe ! With a quick sob of relief she flung herself on 
the narrow bed, her hot face pressed to the pillow and 
gave vent to her despair. 

This was the end of everything. Now her sensitive 
pride lay stripped to its bare bones, the last shred of 
golden romance tattered and gone. 

Isoel Dark — her “ father’s daughter ”... 

What was there left to her? No gift beyond her youth 
and beauty, which would swiftly fade, to lay down at her 
lover’s feet in return for all he offered- Unconsciously, 
these last weeks, the memory of the dead man had been 
a moral support to the girl — that honoured “ father in 
the Navy ” ! 

Through him she belonged to Doran’s class. Now the 
last glory had fled. She stood alone, a social outcast. 


3o8 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Blacker and blacker, there rose up the long indictment 
of deception. Her teeth closed in an agony of shame 
on the linen pillow. She was no better than humble 
Patty, resolute to capture Bert! Worse. For Patty 
never aspired to marriage above her own class. 

What had Mrs. Serocold called her? An “adven- 
turess ” ! It was true. 

And then at the lowest rung of despair the reaction of 
youth set in. Her pride, wounded mortally but not 
slain, rose to her help. Doran had never questioned her. 
What right had he to her past? She had kept herself 
serenely pure. Was that not enough for him ? 

“ I can give him at least the future intact.” She 
clasped her feverish hands together. Hope dawned in 
her eyes. “ So long as I live,” she cried aloud, “ I will 
never tell him another lie I ” 

A thought followed close on the heels of this resolu- 
tion. There was time to confess the whole truth still, 
to be open with him before her marriage. 

For a moment she faced it in the glow of a fervent 
desire to act aright. Then she shrank from the sacri- 
fice, aware of all that it might involve. 

She knew the strength of his character. He might 
forgive her — but forget? 

No. He would never trust her again! And what 
were love without respect? There would remain pity 
and passion, dregs in her golden cup of life. 

A hot feeling of resentment rose in her heart. Was 
she to blame for the sins and follies of her parents ? For 
the father who had deserted her and the mother who had 
brought her up on a framework of falsehood, sewing 
the seeds of the girl’s inordinate ambition? 

“ It isn’t fair ! ” She thrust back a lock that fell over 
her tear-stained eyes. “ I didn’t ask to be born ! ” The 
old cry of Man to his Maker. 

From where she crouched on the high bed she could 
see out of the open window, above the roofs, the evening 
sky, dim but fresh, and free of the clouds that had fol- 
lowed the course of the westerly wind. A pale star 
peeped forth, very demure and timorous — like a prim- 
rose bud between dark leaves — the first promise of the 
night. 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 369 

It vSeemed to soothe her sore young heart. So tiny 
and alone, held up by invisible chains. 

All life was a lonely business. Only one thing re- 
deemed it. Love! She felt a hungry longing and 
stretched out her empty arms. 

Oh, Francis, I want you so!” Piteous, she cried 
across the gulf. “ I will be good, I promise you. But 
I can’t tell you — I can’t, I can’t ! ” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


‘‘T WONDER if youVe stopped?*' said Patty. 

I She took the little Bee clock and gave it a shake. 

JL It showed its resentment by a faint whirr of the 
alarum. Then it ticked in the vicious way she knew so 
well on a dark morning when bed seemed a downy nest 
and the Stores a monster beckoning. 

“No, it’s only just eleven! Anyhow it’s nearly time. 
I wish that quilt had come back from the wash.” She 
looked at the bed ruefully. “ I’d take off this one if the 
blankets weren’t as bad underneath. Things get that 
black in London! There’s no keeping a place clean. 
Hope Brixton will be better.” She blew a smut off the 
tablecloth. “ Anyhow, that’s a fresh one ! ” 

She gazed happily at the array of good things surround- 
ing a bunch of daffodils in a bright pink vase that gave an 
“ artistic ” air to the supper. 

“ Good of Bert to send that pie. ‘ Veal and ham,’ he 
said it was. I’m glad I thought of the radishes. She’ll 
be hungry after her journey.” 

Wandering across to the window she stared out into 
the dark and went on with her monologue. 

“ I won’t tell her till after she’s fed.” She was twist- 
ing a ring on her left hand. “ I don’t know how to break 
the news that Bert wants it to be at Easter. Seems like 
leaving her in the lurch.” She started and listened eag- 
erly. “ Here she is ! ” Off she went, clattering down 
the stone stairs. “ Isoel — that you ? ” 

“ Patty ! ” came up in an answering cry. 

The next moment she held the girl tightly in a warm 
embrace. 

Isoel clung to her. It was good to be met by such 
hearty affection. 

“ Where’s your luggage ? ” Patty peered beyond her 
through the dim-lit hall. 

“ I shan’t have it till the morning.” Isoel had fore- 
seen the question. “ I’ve brought all I want here.” 

310 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


311 

Half -laughing, half -repentant, she thrust a parcel to- 
wards her friend and they surged upstairs, Patty’s arm 
flung round the slender waist. 

“Now, let’s have a look at you!” The red-haired 
girl had banged the door and drawn the traveller under 
the light. “ Pretty as ever I And so smart.” She 
kissed her again on both cheeks. “ Lor, I’m glad to have 
you back ! ” 

“ And you look fine,” said Isoel sweetly. “ Is that 
the new Spring frock ? And ” — she caught Patty’s hand 
and gazed at it — “a ring! Bert’s? You’re engaged!” 

“ I didn’t mean to tell you yet,” her candid friend 
blurted out. 

“ Didn’t you — you little fraud ! ” Isoel gave her a 
playful shake. “ I am glad. When’s it to be ? Soon, 
I hope.” 

Patty stared. It was so unexpected. 

“ I’ll tell you everything after supper.” She kept to 
her original programme. “ Look what a spread I’ve got 
for you.” 

The visitor gave a little gasp. She had dined late at 
the hotel with Doran who had paced the platform for a 
full hour impatiently, waiting for the boat-train. 

Patty took it for admiration. 

“ See that pie ? Bert sent it, express for you. He 
gets them from a place in the city. Wasn’t it nice of 
the old dear? I remembered that you liked eclairs and 
radishes and there’s ginger ale! Hope you’ve got an 
appetite ? ” 

IsoH saw a road of escape. 

“ Well,” — she made a little face — “ you’re a darling to 
give me such a welcome, but we had a perfectly awful 
crossing ! ” 

It was true; still, a good sailor, she had enjoyed the 
adventure. 

“ Oh, you poor child ! ” said Patty. “ Don’t I know 
what that means. I once went for a trip to Margate and 
thought my last hour was come! Take oflf your hat 
and sit down. You shan’t eat more than you feel like.’^ 

Isoel, relieved, obeyed. 

“ I’d love a radish and something to drink. You begin 
and I’ll talk. It’s so nice to see you again.” They drew 


312 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


up to the table. “ Now, tell me everything. Did he 
propose in the coal-hole ? ” 

Patty laughed, with flushed cheeks. 

“ No. It happened on the beach, the last evening. 
The worst of it was we thought we were quite alone, 
sitting with our backs against the wheel of an old bath- 
ing-machine. And when we got up to come home, there, 
on the other side of it, was an elderly gent who laughed 
at us. But Bert soon tackled him.” 
i “ How? ” Isoel’s eyes were dancing. 

■ Oh, just told him he supposed he’d forgotten the 
days when he was young ! Bert’s always got an answer. 
It made the old chap sit up! So when we got to the 
Esplanade Bert turned and waved his hat.” 

You must have enjoyed yourselves,” Isoel put in 
tactfully. 

Patty nodded her red head. 

“ Bert’s a darling — so generous ! He’s given me lots 
of things but now we’ve got to go slow and save up for 
the furniture.” She attacked the pie lustily. 

“Have you fixed a date for the wedding?” IsoH’s 
voice was quite serene. 

Patty gave her a nervous glance. 

“ No. That is, Bert thought — but of course noth- 
ing’s settled yet — that Easter seemed — ” She broke 
off. Don't think I’m deserting you! We’ll talk it all 
over later. You’ll have to come and stay with us.” 

“ Dear old Patty ! ” Isoel leaned across the table, 
rather touched. “ You needn’t be afraid of that, for I’ve 
been dreading telling you. I’m going to be married my- 
self — soon. So everything’s for the best.” 

“ Great Scott ! ” Patty’s eyes opened wide. “ Is 
that the secret ? ” For IsoH had hinted at one in her 
hurried letter from Paris. 

“ Yes.” They looked at each other and laughed. “ I 
didn’t dare write the news.” 

“ Same here ! ” Patty danced on her rickety chair 
with excitement. “Who is it? Let’s hear! Has he 
given you a ring ? ” 

Isoel extended her hand. 

“ My ! Is it real? ” Patty was awed. “ Must be a 
rich man. Not that Phipps you talked about? ” 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


313 

“Heavens, no! It’s a soldier — Francis Doran. He’s 
a V. C.” 

Now that the ice had been broken she poured it out 
breathlessly, the whole amazing tale of adventure. It 
seemed more fantastic than ever in the shabby, familiar 
room, with the friendly old mirror looking on under its 
cracked cornucopia. It reflected her warm beautiful 
face and the quick movements of her hands, and once 
she glanced up at it and nodded to the glowing vi- 
sion. 

“ I always told you it would be so,” she wound up 
triumphantly. “ But you used to laugh at me and my 
dreams. I’ve used my dot for the trousseau.” 

“ How much a year will you have ? ” Patty became 
practical. Isoel laughed. 

“ Fifteen thousand.” 

Patty bounced up. “You’re pulling my 
leg I I won’t believe it I ” 

“ Then look at this,” said Isoel. She drew out from 
inside her blouse the exquisite, shining row of pearls. 
“ This is part of his wedding present and now he’s giving 
me a car, a little motor landaulet. I’m going to drive in 
it to-morrow.” 

“ Lord ! ” Patty’s hand went up to a narrow chain 
about her neck from which hung a flat gold heart. Inside 
was Bert’s portrait. 

For a moment she felt annoyed. Isoel’s wonderful 
romance threw her own so effectively into the back- 
ground. It wasn’t fair! 

Then, as she still stared at her friend, a sudden fear 
shot through her heart rousing her old loyalty. 

“You love him?” Her voice was sharp. 

Isoel silently raised her eyes. Patty read the truth in 
them. There was passion, thinly-veiled, in their depths; 
but behind this was the shadow of fear. 

Patty’s anxiety increased. Instinct led her to the se- 
cret: that cloud which dimmed Isoel’s joy. 

“ Does he know all about you ? ” 

The heavy lids fluttered and fell. Isoel shrank back 
in her chair away from this direct attack. She knew, 
of old, Patty’s methods. 

“ Not much.” She evaded the question. 


314 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


“Oh, Isoel!'* Patty groaned. “What a bad begin-* ; 
ning to marriage.” 

“ Don’t! ” The harassed girl sprang up. “You can’t 
understand! It’s all for the best. Besides — he loves 
me for myself.” 

“ Then he wouldn’t mind anything. Does he know 
you were at Clotilde’s ? ” 

“ No.” Isoel turned away. 

But Patty couM see her in the mirror. 

“ He thinks you just a lady at large?” She went on, 
merciless. 

Isoel’s head was flung back. 

“ He knows that my father — ” She stopped ab- 
ruptly. Home in that familiar room, for a fleeting mo- 
ment, she had forgotten. She gave a little despairing 
sob. “ Oh, Patty, I’m so unhappy ! ” 

Loving arms were flung about her. Her head went 
down on that kind shoulder, draped in the fearsome 
khaki frock with its cheap and tawdry violet ribbons. 

“There, there — ” Patty rocked her. “I’m a beast! 
You’re tired out. You shall tell me all about it later, 
but now undress and get to bed. We’ll have a chat in 
the dark — what Bert calls a ‘ heart to hearter.’ Noth- 
ing like talking things through. There’s always a way 
out.” 

Her homely philosophy was soothing. She began to 
unbutton the dainty blouse that had played no unimpor- 
tant part in the great adventure, the selfsame one which 
had roused Mrs. Serocold’s suspicions. 

“ You’ve got thinner,” said Patty softly. “ But that’ll 
come all right with marriage, and everything else in the 
end. So don’t you go fretting, child. If you love each 
other it’s simply sure to. I used to worry about Bert — 
if he meant it or was fooling around — and then I found 
afterwards he’d had the same doubts of me ! Love’s like 
that — very perplexing. Seems to make you a bit dotty. 
But if your man’s worth a button — and he must be, 
a V.C. ! — he won’t look down on you for working. 
Why,” she gave a little snort, “ he ought to go on his 
knees to you. A girl with a face and figure like yours 
that has kept herself straight all through.” 

Deftly she had undone the last of the blue suspenders. 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


315 


“Nice to get yer stays off after a journey, isn’t it? 
Now then, where’s your nighty? In the parcel — 
righto ! ” She slipped it over the bowed head and pro- 
ceeded to take down the shining coils of smooth honey- 
coloured hair. She brushed and plaited it lovingly. 
“ Like old times, isn’t it ? There — when all’s said and 
done there’s nothing like another woman! Men don’t 
always understand. I rather think that’s why Eve got 
sick of Paradise — wanted some of her own sort when 
Adam had fair worn her out. In you go ! ” She turned 
back the dingy checked counterpane, and showed the 
coarse but spotless sheets. “ Everything’s clean and 
well-aired.” 

Thankfully the girl obeyed her. Then she turned her 
tear-stained face away from the light. 

“ I’m spoiling it all — ” She choked on the words. 

Patty smiled. 

“ Not a bit. The pie will keep, come in handy for 
our breakfast. I’ll be glad to get to bed myself.” 

She made short work of her undressing, lowered the 
gas to the merest speck and slipped into the farther bed, 
then stretched a hand across the few inches of space be- 
tween. 

“ Now, tell me everything.” 

Isoel made a full confession. Patty, grave-eyed in the 
dark, listened and kept a hold on her tongue. What a 
mistake it all had been, this mixture of courage and de- 
ception. But what a romance — incredible ! 

She saw how ambition had led the girl up to the heights 
of her success and how since a stronger force was war- 
ring with it — her passionate love. 

She had always wanted the “best in life” but her 
childish vision had overlooked the essential factor : it must 
be built on a basis of truth — unlike dreams. 

Now the sleeper had awakened, the filmy clouds of 
glory had fled. And with them a part of her happiness. 
Not for her was peace of mind. 

Patty, hardened by a struggle for existence in a hard 
world, grimly tolerant of the weakness latent in humanity, 
anxious herself to be married, shrewd over money mat- 
ters, had her own code of honour — a better one than 
Isoel’s ! She would not have stood in the latter’s shoes 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


316 

for twice that fifteen thousand pounds. She was full of 
the pride of the working-class. Equality and a mutual 
respect that gave and asked for no '' favours,” love upon 
a solid footing — this was her “best in life.” 

She felt anew, as she listened, her old contempt for 
the leisured class, their traditions of caste and conven- 
tion and the intrigues of women like Tory. She forgot 
that in her own way she was equally bound by the laws 
of habit, that every grade of society has its petty deceits 
and ambitions. But when Isoel came at length to the 
grim story of the Taube and its victim in far-off Paris, 
her heart softened and overflowed. 

“My, how awful!"' She leaned across and took the 
girl in her plump young arms. “ But you played the 
game. Poor man ! It’s nice to think you eased his pass- 
ing. Fancy your father coming to that! It must have 
been a shock to you.” 

“ But I can’t tell Francis,’' Isoel moaned. “ He saw 
him there — a common waiter I ” 

Patty thought for a moment. 

“ I don’t see you’ve any call to. It’s your father’s 
secret as well as yours. He wouldn’t have wished you 
to know. And he’s dead. There’ll be no further trouble. 
It’s more loyal to say nothing. So don’t go worrying 
over that. There’s many a gentleman-born that sinks 
lower still when he takes to drink. Bert says it’s a dis- 
ease, like consumption or anything else. I think it was 
rather fine of him to keep away and work for his living. 
He didn’t come home and sponge on you. He behaved 
decent at the last. It ought to be a sort of comfort.” 

“ Yes.” Isoel drank this in. “ And he asked for my 
mother and for me. He hadn’t forgotten.” Her ■•■oice 
quivered. 

“ He’s with her now,” said Patty simply. 

“ I wonder.” Isoel caught her breath. 

“ Why, of course,” said the Protestant girl. “ I don’t 
hold with all your notions about purgatory. Poor old 
chap! He’s had it here in this world. Don’t you go 
forgetting that. He's all right! I’m not religious but 
I think, in the end, God’s merciful; that, when we pay 
for our sins in life, it’s chalked up to the good. I’m 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


31;^ 

rather doubtful about hell — always have been ! Seems 
to me, we get it back here below. Why, you're paying 
this very minute for having told all those fibs! You'd 
be a much happier girl if you had it honestly out with 
Doran." 

She felt Isoel recoil. 

“ I can't. I daren't! It's too late. We're going to 
be married on Saturday. There's only to-morrow — " 
She broke off. Patty had given a low whistle. 

‘‘ As soon as that ? Why ? " She gripped the girl 
closer. Her voice was sharp. 

Isoel, serenely unconscious, explained the reason for 
their haste. Patty's tense arms relaxed. “ I might have 
known," she said to herself. 

Isoel went on: 

“And I’ve got to the end of my money. I'm simply 
dreading the hotel bill. You see, I sent a hundred francs 
to Madame Jolivard that night. For the funeral. I felt 
I must. To have him buried like a pauper — non, 
jamais ! " 

Patty hugged her. 

“ You’re an angel ! 

She sympathized. In no class of life is the fear of 
neglecting outward respect to the dead more strong than 
in her own. In this lies the prevailing horror of the 
workhouse to the poor. 

Long they talked into the night, but arrived at no hope- 
ful conclusion. Patty expended her eloquence in vain. 
Isoel stood firm. In the end the elder girl was imbued 
with the same doubts. She saw clearly the danger of 
her own counsels. 

Suppose Doran threw Isoel over, what was to become 
of her? Without Patty's common sense, alone, reck- 
less and broken-hearted? Worse evils might befall her. 
Patty, honest and clear-sighted, blamed the dead Miriam 
and her romantic lack of sense which had influenced the 
growing girl. 

And you couldn't “ count on the gentry " ! Socialistic 
to the core, she felt a rising inclination to help this 
pretty, aspiring creature to “get even'* for once with 
the rich and patronizing class she despised; and yet, in 


3i8 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


some corner of her heart — true to centuries-old tradi- 
tions — admired, although she would not admit it. 

A clock outside chimed slowly two. 

Patty started. How late it was ! Isoel would be a 
wreck and unfit for the coming day. 

“ Well, ducky, sleep on it,'’ she wound up tenderly. 
“ ril turn out the light and tuck you up — for the last 
time." Her eyes filled. 

Isoel did not demur. She was worn out, body and 
soul. But a practical thought occurred to Patty as she 
snuggled down again. 

“ Won’t they miss you at the hotel?" For Isoel had 
confessed to this part of her broken agreement, inwardly 
relieved to find that Patty accepted it as natural. 

“ No," the weary whisper came back. “ I told the 
chamber-maid not to call me, that I’d get my own bath. 
My rule was to rise early and have a walk before break- 
fast! So, when I slipped away, I put some shoes out- 
side the door and thoroughly rumpled up the bed. You 
see I think of every detail? I was born to be an ad- 
venturess ! ’’ 

She gave a bitter little laugh, recalling Tory’s sum- 
ming-up. It was one of those arrows that sting through 
life when worthier speeches go down into unfathomable 
depths. 

It hurt the girl beside her more than all that had 
passed between them. It was so unlike the Isoel of the 
days of Clotilde, gay and proud. 

“ You’re not to talk like that," she scolded. ‘‘ I won’t 
have it ! D’you hear ? ’’ 

After a moment a little hand slipped across and felt 
for her own. 

“Dear Patty. I didn’t mean it. I’m just — tired, I 
think, to-night. I shall be all right in the morning. 
Sleep well, ma bien chere/' 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


T he last day of the old life for Isoel broke fair and 
sunny and brought with it the reaction from the 
depression over-night. Brought, too, a slight 
sense of shame — as morning so often does — for lack of 
faith in a world so fresh and alive with possibilities. 

Of the two girls Patty seemed the most shaken by 
the fears piled up in the dark night. For she had not 
the other’s temperament, swinging easily to extremes. 
She did not feel so intensely — the heritage of the ar- 
tistic — and although she might not know their despair 
she could never share in their raptures. 

Isoel, refreshed by sleep, believed she had passed the 
Rubicon in her confession overnight. Even Patty had 
been brought to see the wisdom of her decision ! The 
sight of the bare shabby room with its litter of supper, 
still uncleared, was like some nightmare of the past. 
Never could she return to this. And somewhere Francis 
was awake, thinking of her, deeply in love, counting the 
hours before they should meet. To-morrow she would 
be his wife ! 

Patty made her a cup of tea. Rather silent and dis- 
hevelled she bent over the gas-ring, an anxious eye on 
the kettle. 

But Isoel hummed whilst she dressed, a faint smile on 
her lips as she recalled the words of the song. Not 
for her the fate of Ninon — *'Toi qui n'as jamais su 
V amour'' — but life at its fullest, wedded love. 

She piled up her glossy hair, and patted the little curls 
on her cheeks, glowing from the cold water. Tears had 
not dimmed her wonderful eyes. She looked the picture 
of youth and health. 

“ I’ve bought the most heavenly hat, a big black one, 
for to-morrow.” Her voice thrilled on the word. “ It 
looks so chic, with a coat and skirt of chalk-white cloth 
and buckskin shoes. A ' symphony in black and white ’ 
as Madame Clotilde used to call it. I heard from Anna. 

319 


320 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Did I tell you ? She wanted me to come back ! Hei* 
laugh rang gaily through the room up to the high black- 
ened ceiling. “ No more drudgery for me ! To twist and 
turn like a wooden doll. I do want you to see my trous- 
seau. Couldn’t you slip round to-night very late and 
have a gossip? I expect we shall be dining out but you 
could wait for me in my bedroom, if you didn’t mind. 
It would be lovely.” 

Patty shook her red head with its crown of curling- 
pins. 

‘‘ No.” She would not give her reason. She was 
inclined to be fatalistic and accept her friend’s ultimatum 
but it went sorely against the grain. She felt tired and 
a little cross. 

“ Oh, do,” Isoel pleaded. She began to polish her 
pink nails from Patty’s worn manicure set. “ Then, if 
you don’t, I shall come here. I simply refuse to say 
good-bye until the very last moment. What time can you 
get back? I could dress early and slip across on some 
excuse, say, at six.” 

Patty glanced at her doubtfully. 

“ Is it wise? ” 

“Yes, of course! Try and get off from the Stores.’* 

Patty nodded. 

“ I’ll do my best.” Her heart was sore. It seemed 
hard that she should be outside it all. Then she remem- 
bered her “ Bert.” Love did make a difference 1 Her 
common sense returned to her. She smiled as she poured 
out the tea from a cracked brown pot into their cups. 

“ You’ll have to employ me by-and-by as your mani- 
curist.” Her pale blue eyes with their sandy lashes were 
malicious. “ Although when we’re married, Bert says 
he won’t hear of me doing work.” 

Isoel coloured. She understood the distinction that 
Patty drew in the lives that lay before them. 

The good-natured girl laughed as she came across 
with the cup. 

“ Don’t look so worried, child. I’m not a fool ! I 
understand. So long as we meet now and then it’s all 
that your old Patty asks for.” 

“Don’f.'” Isoel turned and kissed her. “Listen! 
IVe got a lovely plan. I shall run up to London by my- 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


321 


self and we’ll have a little spree together. Do the 
theatres — Bert shall come.” This suggestion cost her 
an effort. “And then I’ll help you with your trousseau. 
Do let me? It would be fun.” 

Patty was mollified. 

“ Perhaps Mr. Doran won’t spare you ? He seems ta 
have a will of his own.” 

“ Thank goodness ! ” Isoel laughed. “ I’d hate a man 
who gave in to me. I mean on all and every occasion.” 

“ Where do you go for your honeymoon ? ” Patty 
was gulping down her tea and dressing at the same time^ 
an anxious eye on the clock. 

Isoel looked away. 

“ It’s not quite settled yet.” 

She could not tell this loving friend that she had wel- 
comed Doran’s suggestion of spending it at the little 
house tucked away in Holly Walk. For she dared not 
invite Patty there. 

“ Perhaps Brighton,” she added quickly. 

So soon as the words had passed her lips she regretted 
them. Another fib! Well, it should be the very last. 
She began to pin on her hat. 

“You like the petticoat I brought you?” 

“ It’s lovely.” Patty had received the gift from Paris 
overnight. “ I mean to keep it for the day.” 

“ But you can’t,” laughed IsoH. “ It’s blue.” 

“ Bert likes blue,” said Patty simply, “ and bright 
colours. I’m so glad. I never feel happy in dingy ones.” 
She was buttoning a magenta blouse. “ We chose this 
together.” Her eyes were tender. 

At last both girls were ready. They parted with a 
hearty kiss but no allusion to the subject of last night’s 
conversation. 

''All reevwarl ” Patty waved, “ Six o’clock. I’ll be 
back,” and clattered down the stone stairs. 

Isoel re-entered the room. Her face now was rather 
thoughtful. She stood for a moment before the mirror. 
It aroused many memories. 

“ You helped me,” she said to it. “ You and Patty 
have been good friends. I shan’t forget.” Staring back 
at her own reflection she felt a shadow of regret steal 
across her happiness. 


322 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


But the spring was stirring in her blood; her mood 
soon changed to one of mischief. She sank down in a 
low Court curtsy before its faded magnificence. 

“ And I used to pin a counterpane on to my shoulders ! ” 
She laughed aloud. “ Now I shall have a proper train 
and wear my pearls. Oh, he is a darling! It’s wicked 
of me to doubt my star. Listen, old mirror: never 
again! No more futile looking back.” She was off, 
singing, down the stairs. 

A cool and dignified Isoel Dark walked into the big 
hotel and found her way into breakfast. She was 
g^reeted by an attentive waiter and enjoyed to the full a 
leisurely meal. From this she wandered through the 
lounge and paused at the little book-stall above to buy 
herself a morning paper. 

Armed with this she went up to her room. The 
chamber-maid was making her bed. 

Isoel greeted her pleasantly. 

“ Don’t stop. I’m going out. I only want to pin my 
veil. I’ve had such a lovely walk. Isn’t it a perfect 
morning ? ” 

The chambermaid agreed that the weather was ‘‘ im- 
proving at last ” and adding, smiling, that not many 
ladies cared to be up and dressed at this hour. 

“ And I’ve had breakfast,” Isoel laughed. “ You see 
I’m just back from abroad and one does get up early 
there.” 

A bell sounded close to her elbow. 

“ The telephone, madam.” The maid retired dis- 
creetly, closing the door with a click as a proof that she 
scorned to listen. 

“Is that Miss Dark?” Doran’s voice replied to the 
girl’s quick “ Hullo ! ” 

“ Yes, moi-meme. Cest toi, mon ami? ” 

“ Don’t you dare talk French to me or I’ll pay you out 
in Italian ! How are you, Golden Vision? ” 

“ Splendid. I’ve been for a ta-ta.” 

“Alone, I hope?” 

“No, with the Buttons! The littlest one, like a 
robin.” 

“ I’ll spank him when I come round ! ” Doran, too, 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


32s 


sounded joyous. “Look here, my dear, I’m rather 
bothered. The lawyers want to see me again and heaven 
knows how long they’ll keep me. Can you amuse your- 
self till lunch?” 

“Of course. I shall have a look at the shops.” 

^“Well, it’s like this — I’m frightfully sorry — but 
IVe had a line from my Colonel too. He’s back, 
wounded, from the front and he asks me to look him up 
at twelve at a hospital miles from you. Could you meet 
me at the Berkeley — the Dover Street entrance — at one 
o’clock? There’s a nice little hall just inside in case I’m 
a few minutes late. I’ll ring up and secure a table. 
Afterwards we’ll have the car and run down to Holly 
Walk.” 

“ That would be lovely,” she answered sweetly. “ And 
don’t rush. I can easily wait. I always love watching 
the people.” 

“ Don’t let any one kidnap you ! ” She heard him 
chuckle and smiled herself. “I say — don’t go! — 
would you like the car this morning?” His voice held 
a grudging note. 

“ No, I want to see it with you for the first time.” 
She guessed his thoughts. “ I can’t kiss it outside the 
Berkeley, can I ? ” 

“ Not exactly ! Better keep that for me, later on at 
Holly Walk. Have you had breakfast ? ” 

“ Bien stir! ” 

Back came a volley of Italian and his boyish laugh. 
Then, more seriously:' 

“ Bless you, take care of yourself ! I feel badly 
cheated this morning.” The telephone was rung off. 

The little talk left her happy. She moved across to 
the window and looked out dreamily. Her room was 
on a high floor. She could see a vast panorama of roofs 
stretched out before her; the big dome of the British 
Museum and the spires of the many churches, hazily 
grey in the early light, and a queer disconnected build- 
ing with jutting gables that straggled away to her right 
like a child’s erection of bricks. Below her were the 
Square gardens, the trees bursting into green and the 
rather dingy London grass with its winding gravel paths. 


324 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


It looked forlorn and deserted, a meeting-place for prowl- 
ing cats and as though each sooty plant and bush faced 
decay but struggled on. 

Suddenly a thought struck her. Beyond this was 
Churton Square. She would go and thank Sir Abel 
Groot. Her eyes fell on the telephone. 

“ ril ring him up — what fun ! I believe the number’s 
on his letter.” 

She unlocked her famous dressing-bag and hunted for 
it, then paused for a moment to glance down the written 
page. “ You don’t tell me the lucky man’s name,” caught 
her attention and she smiled. 

“ I will, now,” she decided and turned to the instru- 
ment. 

The secretary answered the call. 

Yes, Sir Abel was at home. He would be pleased to 
see Miss Dark at any time before twelve. After that 
he had an appointment. 

Isoel put back the receiver. She decided to change 
her dress. 

“ He shall see the difference in me,” she thought, “ and 
I shall be ready for lunch too.” 

Behold her then, a little later, dainty, demure, in dove- 
grey, with a wide-brimmed hat in lapis-blue shading her 
eyes ; round her neck the famous pearls, on her finger the 
emerald ring making a hillock in her glove, grey too, 
reminiscent of Tory. 

The sunshade was blue to match. Little grey shoes 
and stockings gave the finish she prized so highly. The 
porter bowed as he let her out. 

A fat, bloated London pigeon, strutting along in the 
gutter, perched his head on one side and peered at her 
with pink eyes that gave him a dissipated look. 

''Some bird!” he seemed to say, ‘‘Not unlike my 
class.” 

The sight of him brought back to the girl the whirl 
of wings about St. Mark’s. The skies were not so 
blue in London but the great city called to her with its 
old hidden fascination; that sense of solidity and 
calm which broods under the froth of life churning 
away on its surface. It counted in centuries, not in 
days. 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


325 


r 

“ I am London, and I last/’ This was the message 
that swept to her across its time-stained treasure-house, 
the solemn, gloomy old museum. “ Wars come and wars 
go. Little men and great men fight, and fret, and fade 
away. I remain, I am Britain.” 

“ And I love you,” said Isoel softly. “ Better now 
than the South. I had to go away to miss you, but I’m 
home again, and I’m glad.” 

She paused for a moment to watch a small, intensely- 
alive errand-boy fling back a quick retort to a grimy 
cook, arms a-kimbo, scowling over an area gate. 

‘‘G’arn! ’Oo d’you tike me for? I’m h’oflP to jine 
the h’Army ! ” 

tie caught Isoel’s merry glance and winked at her 
shamelessly. 

“ Not ’arf ! ” Which, rightly, she took to be a tribute 
to her beauty. 

Then, with a whoop, he was off, swinging his basket, 
his floppy cap, with the peak carefully pulled down be- 
hind, revealing a fringe of dust-coloured hair. 

“ I even prefer him to gondoliers,” Isoel decided, smil- 
ing. “ I think at a pinch he’d be more honest. Dear 
old London ! ” She walked on proudly. 

The thin, supercilious footman let her in at No. 5. 
She was shown up into the library on the first floor with- 
out delay. 

Sir Abel rose from his writing-table, gouty no longer, 
very dapper, with his full lips curled in a smile, mis- 
chief in the ferrety eyes. 

How are you? You look — superb!” The tribute 
held a grain of malice. 

“ I’m very well, though I crossed last night in a fright- 
ful gale.” She sat down in the arm-chair offered her, 
cool and composed. ‘‘ And you ? ” 

“ Middling.” He drew up another seat a foot from 
her own and scrutinized her pretty clothes. 

Paris ? ” His voice was slightly familiar. 

She nodded her head. 

“ Thanks to your kindness in getting my money out of 
the bank. I hope — ’’ 

Sir Abel interrupted. 

“ I’ve had that put all right for you. There’s still a 


326 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


deposit — the interest. You never had your book made 
up. You should send it in once a year.” 

“ Something more to thank you for.” Isoel smiled at 
him. “ I’m very grateful. That was why I rang you up. 
I felt I must come round and see you and tell you so 
instead of writing.” 

‘‘ Kind of you,” said Sir Abel. The eyes, sunk in 
their pouches, twinkled. “ I thought you came for that 
wedding present I promised you. Who’s the man ? ” 

“ Did you promise me one ? ” She laughed. “ It was 
surely a little premature.” 

“ Not at all. I knew you’d win. So the great ad- 
venture came off ? ” 

She evaded his meaning, her head high. 

“My trip to Venice? It certainly did. I’ve had a 
perfectly heavenly time.” 

“ And now you’re back on earth again, caught up in the 
toils of marriage ? ” 

“ Yes, to-morrow,” she said demurely. 

“Soon as that?” He raised his brows. “But you’d 
never let the grass grow long under your feet — those 
pretty feet!” He stared at them and gave a chuckle. 
“ I think you might trust me with his name ? ” 

“It’s Sam — Sam Jones. He sells butter.” She re- 
joiced in his stare and added, “ retail.” 

“ And he gave you those pearls,” said Sir Abel suavely. 
“ Sure it’s not margarine ? ” 

Isoel’s smothered laughter escaped. 

“ It’s no good trying to deceive you ! I’m going to 
marry a Mr. Doran. A V.G. — isn’t that nice? He’s a 
barrister but fighting now — at least he was before he 
was wounded — and he’s just got a home appointment 
as adjutant in a northern camp. That’s why it’s such 
a hurried affair.” 

“ I accept your explanation,” he laughed. “ You’ve a 
sound head on your young shoulders. He’s well off, I 
presume. Those pearls cost something.” 

“We shall be quite comfortable. About fifteen thou- 
sand a year.” Her face was delicious in its mischief. 

Sir Abel gave a startled grunt. 

“ H’m ! I should think you would. Better than being 
at Clotilde’s, eh?” 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


327 

“ I can still go there/' Her eyes danced. I had a 
letter inviting me back." 

“ And what does Mr. Dawn say to that proposition? " 

He leaned nearer, aware of a slight change in her. 

“ So he doesn’t know everything ? Another wise move 
of yours." 

She did not reply to this and somehow she did not like 
his approval. 

“ His name is Doran, not Dawn. His mother was 
Lady Caroline Doran. She was a daughter of Lord 
Garth." 

Ho, ho ! " He laughed aloud. I’ve heard of her." 
He paused for a moment, reviving scandalous memories. 
Then he started. 

“ Why, that’s odd ! He must be a son of David Doran. 
I’ve a fine landscape of his downstairs. I’ll show it you 
before you go.’’ His face lit up as he spoke of his 
hobby ; became, in some way, purified. It appealed to 
the highest side of his nature. The look passed and 
he went on, “I suppose the money comes from her?" 
He had not doubted the girl’s statement. 

“ Yes, and the place in Dorsetshire." How proud she 
felt at this moment. She liked and yet mistrusted Sir 
Abel. Now she was getting her own back. 

“ And the pearls ? " 

“ No." Her head went higher. “ Those we bought 
together in Paris." 

“ Wise again." His voice grated. He tapped her fa- 
miliarly on the arm. “ Good jewels are always an asset. 
A man rarely asks for them back." 

“ What do you mean ? ’’ She looked bewildered and 
drew away under his touch. 

“ You never know — " He watched her closely. 
** Have you got a settlement ? " 

“ I think so." 

Find out. Before to-morrow ! There’s many a slip 
’twixt the cup and the lip — even prettier ones than 
yours ! ’’ He gave his harsh, suppressed laugh. “ Is he 
fairly young? " 

‘‘ Yes, of course. I told you that he was in the army — 
had got his commission, and a V.C. Oh ! " She recoiled, 
the colour flooding her delicate face. ‘‘ You thought he 


328 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


was an old man? That I was marrying him for his 
money ! 

“ Why not? ’’ Sir Abel roared. 

Her indignation grew apace. He went on, curious 
now. 

“ You wouldn’t marry a man like me, for instance, if 
I gave you the chance ? ” 

“No, I wouldn't!'’ she cried hotly, anger mastering 
her politeness. 

“ And quite right ! ” laughed Sir Abel. He was not in 
the least offended by it. 

But his manner towards her altered a little. It be- 
came more fatherly. 

“ Now, look here, Miss Dark, I’m going to give you 
a word of advice. You’re fond of Doran? ” 

He watched her shrewdly. 

“ Yes.” Her voice was indistinct. 

“As fond as that?” His eyes narrowed. “It’s the 
worst thing that could have happened.” 

“ Why? ” She stared at him, amazed. 

“ Because when a woman is deeply in love she throws 
her caution overboard. I gather from something you 
said just now he doesn’t know your history?” 

She hesitated. 

“Only — a little.” 

“ And quite enough,” said Sir Abel grimly. “ Don’t 
go telling him anything more. He takes you on his own 
valuation. Your affair is to keep up the price.” 

Isod’s face was hurt and wistful. Her indignation had 
melted away. She was back at the old bitter problem. 

“ You’re a pretty woman,” Sir Abel continued, “ and 
a clever one — when you keep your head. Don’t let 
your heart interfere. After marriage you mayn’t find 
that a man is quite so tractable. Don’t give him any hold 
on you. Is there any one who can give you away? I 
don’t mean in Church.” He chuckled here. “ But about 
your life up to now? ” 

“ No, I’ve never made friends. Only one — the girl I 
lived with.” 

“ Then drop her. Effectually, but not in a way that 
will leave rancour.” 

Isoel writhed in her chair. 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


329 


I can’t. She’s safe — and she understands.” 

“ She’s a danger-mark,” said the shrewd old man. 
‘‘ But not so dangerous as yourself ! One of these days ” 
— he raised a finger with swollen joints and shook it at 
her — “you’ll succumb to the greatest folly on earth of 
which a woman is capable. I’m not certain it’s not a dis- 
ease connected with hysteria. The name it goes by is 
‘ Confession.’ ” 

He let the words sink in. 

Isoel raised her sombre eyes. 

“Why shouldn’t I tell him everything? I’ve done 
nothing I’m ashamed of.” 

His cynical advice had succeeded where all poor 
Patty’s honest protests had fallen upon barren ground 
He had touched, not her principles, but her pride. 

“ Because it’s too late,” said Sir Abel firmly. “ You 
should have done it at the start. He’d never believe in 
you again — not if he’s his father’s son. David Doran 
trusted his wife when all the world guessed the truth — 
that she had become the Prince’s mistress. She confessed 
one night and they parted. She did it, you see, a trifle 
too late.” 

A cold shiver ran through the girl. 

“ Why do you tell me all this ? ” she cried. 

“Because,” — Sir Abel’s eyes shifted — “I happen to 
like you.” His voice was gruff. “ I’m what is known 
as a self-made man. There are plenty of us knocking 
about, but few women with the brains and grit to suc- 
ceed in a similar fashion. You could do it. You’ve got 
the strength — and the weaknesses — of the two classes 
and, if I’m not much mistaken, a dash of the cleverest 
blood in the world — Jewish. It’s worth a royal ran- 
som ! ” He chuckled. “ But don’t make a blunder now. 
If you do,” — he rose to his feet — “come to me. I’ll 
help you again. I mean that — in honest friendship.” 

He stood with his back to the mantelpiece looking down 
at the silent figure. 

“ One thing more. Does Doran know that you and I 
are acquainted ? ” 

“ No.” She felt slightly ashamed. She had cause to 
be grateful to this man. 

“ Then don’t mention it,” said Sir Abel. That’s why ” 


330 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


— his lips curled, humorous and cynical — Fm not going 
to give you that wedding-present. Fm going back on my 
promised word — foi d'lm financier!''' 

The way he said it was so quaint, so kindly beneath the 
open sneer, that the girl forgave him his harsh advice. 
She knew in her heart that his logic was sound and that 
he meant well by her. 

“ You’re very good to me,” she cried. ‘‘ I am grate- 
ful. Please believe it.” She sprang up impulsively and 
held out her hands to him. Tears were standing in her 
eyes, hitherto veiled by her lashes. 

“ Then you’ll come to me if there’s any trouble ? ” 

“Yes. You, first of all ! ” 

“ Good. But if you’re a sensible girl, there won’t be 
any. Now sit down and tell me the whole adventure. 
I’ve just ten minutes more free and then Fm off to a 
Board Meeting.” 

She obeyed him willingly. Sir Abel listened, amused 
and friendly. It strengthened him in his opinion. Doran 
was not the man to be played with. 

He would not look too far ahead. This war brought 
many widows, and the girl was clever, undoubtedly ! And 
fascinating. 

He did not refer to his earlier subject until they stood 
in the hall on the shabby Persian rug that had cost him 
a little fortune. Then he played his last card. 

“ The worst of that folly I described is it generally 
ruins two lives. Good-bye. Good luck to you ! ” 

He left her to the footman’s attentions, in his old 
abrupt careless manner, and turned into the dining-room. 

“ That ought to settle it. She’s head over ears in love 
with the fellow ! I think I deserve a glass of port — ” 

He went up to the sideboard, measured it out lovingly, 
and held it up to the light. 

“ Another danger lamp,” he chuckled. “ Gout ! I’ll 
risk it, just for once ! That’s a good girl — straight as a 
die. I almost wish — ” 

He drank slowly. 


CHAPTER XXIX' 


TE have to get out here,” said Doran, as they 
drew up at an opening in the long busy line 
¥ ¥ of shops. “ We don’t boast a carriage road.” 

They dismissed the car until six o’clock and turned up 
the paved passage guarded bj a pair of posts. It widened 
as they moved along, with a high wall on their right and 
facing it were little houses with narrow, grimy strips of 
garden. 

“ This is the ugly part,” said Doran, which an amusing 
friend of my father’s used to call * the scrag end ’ ! 
Ahead of us lies the country.” He quickened his steps in- 
stinctively. 

Isoel smiled and slipped a hand through his arm. 

I’m frightfully excited ! Ever since you told me 
about it, that night we first went to the Lido, I’ve longed 
to see your old home.” 

“ I hope you won’t be disappointed. I think it’s rather 
selfish of me to bring you back here to-morrow. But 
then we’ve only a few days and it seems a shame to waste 
them in journeys.” 

“ I’d rather come here than anywhere else.” She 
meant it honestly. Only a few months ago she would 
have scorned the bare idea of a honeymoon spent in a cot- 
tage a few yards from the Fulham Road. But love had 
changed her point of view. A thought struck her. 
“ What servants have you ? ” 

“ A man and his wife — we’ve had them for years — 
and a small girl who keeps in the background, a sort of 
parasite of Biddy’s. The old couple are great sport. 
They generally call me ‘ Master Francis ’ and Biddy reads 
me a fine lecture when I come in with muddy boots. Her 
joy in life is a grey parrot who uses most appalling lan- 
guage; a sort of curse and blessing combined. She 
spends her evenings reforming him. Robert is an old 
sailor. His great hobby is the garden. They run the 
whole place between them. I never interfere.” 

331 


332 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


I hope they’ll take to me,’^ said the girl. 

Doran laughed. 

You needn’t worry! Old Biddy’s been after me for 
years to ^ marry and settle ’ as she puts it. Now, look, 
isn’t this better ? 

They had passed the back of a block of flats, high and 
gloomy, and turned the corner. A sense of light and 
open air rewarded them; for the narrow walk was now 
between low walls, the boundary of back gardens. Trees 
in their delicate young green peered over, laburnum and 
lilac, with a fringe of pale yellow blossom or the heavier 
purple spikes. Painted doors of faded hue broke the line 
of old bricks, always a lovely note in London amidst 
stucco and dirty stone, and the path was so narrow that 
none of the houses facing the adjacent streets were visible, 
only the clear blue sky with its fleecy clouds, like a flock 
of sheep. 

“ We might be in the heart of the country, a little lane 
in a village.’’ IsoH’s eyes drank it in. I know I’m go- 
ing to love this place. I’m longing to get round the cor- 
ner.” 

For Holly Walk had abrupt turnings and one of these 
was just ahead. When they reached it she gave a cry. 

“ Is that the house ? ” 

Doran nodded. 

A low, white building stood alone, plumb with the pave- 
ment, bathed in sunshine. Brown tiles and latticed win- 
dows veiled by deep blue artist blinds gave it a homely 
and picturesque air. 

It seemed to be calmly waiting for them. 

Doran hunted for his latch-key whilst Isoel stood and 
gazed up at the door with its striped linen curtain and a 
brass bowl in one of the windows holding a pot of hya- 
cinths. 

“Hadn’t we better ring?” she suggested. “I’m sure 
old Biddy would prefer it.” Inexperienced as a mistress, 
inwardly she was dreading the servants. “ But every- 
thing’s excused in a bride,” she thought with a feeling 
of consolation. 

“ Lord, no I She’s expecting you.” 

Doran ran up the steps and opened the door. Isoel 
followed. 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


333 


“ Welcome home ! ’* He bent and kissed her. 

A crisp rustle brought them apart. A little old woman 
with red cheeks stood at the top of the kitchen stairs^ 
beaming at the young couple, indiscreet and unashamed. 

“ Here she is ! ” Doran laughed. 

Isoel, shyly, held out her hand. Biddy had prepared 
her speech. 

“ Good evening, miss — pleased to see you. It’s a 
happy day for me and mine as always holds that a gentle- 
man isn’t complete until he’s married.” Her small bright 
eyes were inquisitive. “ There ! Isn’t she a picture ? ” 
She forsook her original oration and turned to her master 
then glanced at his boots. “ I do ’ope, Master Francis, 
as you’ve wiped your feet? With all this dust — and 
I’ve only just gone over the floor. Seems to come in 
through the cracks, enough to make a body crazy ! ” 

“ But it’s all so spotless ! ” IsoH smiled, enchanted 
with the narrow hall, tiled in red and the white walls 
lined with innumerable water-colours. Through an open 
door she could catch a glimpse of the dining-room, the 
oak table laid for tea with old china and heavy, well- 
polished silver. “I think it’s ducky The words 
broke from her lips impulsively. 

Biddy beamed. 

“ We’ve done our best, Robert and me, but the master 
gave us scant notice. Gentlemen think that a spring- 
cleaning can be got through in a day.” 

“ I’ll take you round, now,” said Doran, cutting short 
the interview. Come along ! ” He began to mount the 
narrow staircase, oak-railed. “ I’d better go first and 
show you the way.” 

Biddy lingered. Isoel, moved by a wish to please the 
old woman gave her little grey shoes another rub on the 
mat. 

“ I’m tidy, too, you see.” She nodded her head at the 
watchful servant. 

“ Then you’ll have to keep an eye on him/' Biddy re- 
marked confidentially. “ The times I’ve had with him as 
a boy ! ” She chuckled as she disappeared. 

“ She’ll do/' she informed Robert, anxious for the first 
news. 

Meanwhile her new mistress was exploring her domain. 


334 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


,The house bore traces at every turn of having been 
arranged by men with a view to comfort and to space ; 
rather bare, but the furniture mostly antique, some of it 
good, all of it efficient and solid. Yet the whole was 
saved from ugliness by the painter’s eye for colour and 
form. In the bath-room, built out over the kitchen, un- 
duly large in proportion to the rest of the place, by the 
side window were parallel bars, worn and polished by 
constant use. 

“ I’ll teach you some tricks on those,” Doran solemnly 
volunteered. “ I should think, too, you ought to fence. 
A good eye and quick on your feet. Come and look at 
the garden, old lady. Mind your hat!” 

She leaned out. Below her was a triangular court, 
paved with uneven stones, with rock-plants set in the 
cracks and a couple of time-worn marble statues. In the 
centre was a mulberry-tree in a little patch of dark soil 
edged with some old Persian tiles, a happy touch of vivid 
blue. 

It was evident that a part of the garden had been 
stolen originally from those around it, the shape due to a 
sharp angle formed by a square in the vicinity. One 
side of it had been sacrificed to building out the studio but 
sufficient open space remained to secure the effect of pri- 
vacy suggesting a country cottage. 

Beyond the stretch of irregular paving was a wide bed 
filled with plants in various stages of budding green. 

“ That’s Robert’s herbaceous border, with everything 
hardy that grows in London. There’s a bed of lilies in 
that corner and those little trees along the wall are al- 
mond. They’ve been a mass of bloom,” Doran explained 
eagerly. “We tried roses — a hopeless failure! They 
can’t survive the fogs and dirt. ’Round at the back of 
the studio is Biddy’s garden, a tiny strip with mint and 
parsley and just beyond are the dogs’ graves. I must 
show you those. My father carved one of the tomb- 
stones with the head of ‘ Judy ’ in bas-relief, a cocker 
spaniel we loved dearly and called after Miss Dalgleish. 
Like it all?” 

IsoH nodded. 

“ I think it’s perfect ! I only wish we could stay here 
altogether.” 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


335 

“ Oh, we’ll come back.” His voice was cheerful. 
“ Now for the best room of all ! ” 

They went downstairs and along a passage that con- 
nected the house with the studio. Doran stood back to 
let her pass, then followed eagerly to watch the girl’s 
first impression. For here, since inheriting his money, 
he had given vent to his fancy, guided by his father’s 
taste. They had spent many a happy hour searching and 
bargaining for its treasures. 

The fine proportions of the room, built long before their 
time, lent themselves to a mellow scheme of early-Italian 
decoration. Beautiful hangings in needlework, rare old 
Florentine wedding-chests. Majolica and ancient bronzes 
were scattered about lavishly, yet in no way obtruding 
upon the sense of space or interfering with the crowded 
pictures on the walls. 

Many of these were of Venice, painted by the dead man 
and full of the luminous atmosphere suggesting an opal, 
that Isoel knew. It seemed to transport her suddenly to 
that land of dazzling sun and sky, where love had first 
dawned for her; to that early morning when she stood 
beneath Fortuna on her globe and gazed across to the 
sparkling Molo. 

Oh, Francis ! ” Her eyes shone. “ It’s like some gol- 
den dream come true. I shall never miss Venice here.” 

“ Dearest.” He was touched and happy, “ I thought, 
somehow, you’d like this room.” Then in silence he 
drew her down to the deep fire-place at the end set with 
old Abruzzi tiles. He raised his eyes to the portrait 
above it. “ That’s my father.” His voice was low, full 
of pride and wistfulness. 

She leaned up against his shoulder and together they 
gazed at the fine old face with its wide grey eyes, under 
shaggy brows, so like the son’s, yet more absorbed — the 
eyes of a man who saw visions. The mouth, too, was 
different. Pain had touched and purified the strong, 
fully-developed lips but left no trace of bitterness. It 
testified to a character ;ioble and rare that thanked God 
for the best in life and bowed its head to the worst, 
humble but uncrushed. 

“ The straightest man that ever breathed,” Doran said 
suddenly. “ How he would have loved you!'' 


336 


JHE BEST IN LIFE 


Isoel shrank back. 

“ No! ” She covered her face with her hands to blot 
out those grey eyes that followed her from the picture. 
[The speech had broken through her guard. 

“ My dear I ’’ Doran looked amazed. 

“ It’s true ! ” She threw out nervous hands to ward 
him off as he approached. Don’t touch me I I can’t 
bear it ! ” She seemed almost hysterical. 

''Non, non, je ne veux pas! If you knew — ” 

He tried to take her in his arms. But quickly, like a 
creature trapped, she slipped away and placed herself out 
of his reach, with a writing-table blocking his path effect- 
ually. 

Light came suddenly to the man. She had gone back 
to the past, to the disgrace surrounding her birth. The 
contrast between Gervase Dark and his own parent had 
been bitter. He answered her very gently. 

“ I do. I know everything.” 

She gave a quick, painful gasp. 

‘‘ Darling, don’t look like that. You mustn’t exagger- 
ate the trouble. Your father’s not the only man who’s 
been obliged to leave the Service.” 

“ Oh 1 ” She clasped her hands to her breast. “ But 
that’s not all. If only it were! ” 

For now she knew that it was upon her, the darkest 
hour of her life. She loved him too dearly to marry 
him, leaving him in ignorance. 

“ No?” Doran’s eyes grew eager. She was going to 
speak of her life at Clotilde’s, so he thought. He wel- 
comed the notion. He had never loved and respected her 
more than he did at this moment. “ Tell me, then.” 

He could have spared her this confession, but he 
scorned the idea. Let her speak. She should never guess 
that he’d held her secret all these long happy weeks. 

“ I’m not what you think me.” She stood there tense in 
every line of her young figure, fighting for courage, white 
as marble, her sombre eyes fixed on Doran. “ I’ve de- 
ceived you.” She choked on the word. I loved you 
too much at the last. I was afraid of telling you — that 
you might turn away from me.” 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


337 


‘‘Never! Nothing could make me do that/’ ■ 

He spoke firmly but lovingly, and she went on, in her 
tragic voice : 

“ Tve been — a shop-girl, and — a servant I ” 

It was typical of her temperament that she used the 
strongest terms she could find. Doran’s heart bled for 
her. He coupled the two statements together as a part 
of her nervous exaggeration. 

A “servant” of Clotilde’s? Certainly — if she chose 
to put it in that way. 

“ Well — ” he smiled — “ what of that? I suppose you 
mean you’ve worked for your living. It doesn’t make 
you less of a lady. I wish you’d come out of that dark 
corner and talk things over comfortably.” 

“ No. I must tell you everything now.” A calm, bred 
of sheer despair, was succeeding her first mood of terror. 

“ Please stay there. You don’t understand. I’ve been 
a mannequin at Clotilde’s and before that I was a maid. 
Lady Manister employed me. She’s dead now. I was 
there four years. My mother was not in your class. She 
lived in a hotel-restaurant at Monaco with her mother’s 
father who owned the place — a French Jew. My father 
met her there. He was — ” she faltered — “a gentleman, 
once. But he came to grief. Afterwards, when I was 
twelve, he deserted us.” 

She paused for breath. Doran’s expression had 
changed. Now, he looked older, a trifle hard and in- 
credulous. 

“ Wait a minute. I always thought that Lady Man- 
ister was your cousin? ” 

“ I never told you so,” she cried. Her lips quivered. 
“ Did Judy? ” Here was her lie come home to roost. • 

“ Yes. She said she had it from you. Perhaps — ” he 
would give her every chance — “ she misunderstood you 
in some way ? ” 

“ No.” She gripped the table before her. “ I gave 
her a false impression.” She would not stoop to excuse 
herself though she read the verdict in Doran’s eyes. 

“ I see.” He tried to make his voice non-committal but 
he failed. 

No man, however loving, cares to feel he has been 


338 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


fooled. It had been a sharp shock to him to learn the 
truth about her birth. A French Jew who kept an inn? 
Maid to Lady Manister? But nothing had hurt him so 
much as this, her acknowledged lie to Judy Dalgleish. 
All his old doubts rose up, he felt his confidence im- 
paired. 

Yet she remained the love of his life. Pity and pas- 
sion strove with his judgment. 

“ Why do you tell me all this now, and not before? ’’ 
he asked bravely. “ Couldn’t you have trusted me ? ” 
His eyes were full of the pain he felt. As she did not 
answer him he insisted. “ Why now? 

A sob broke from her. 

Because I couldn’t go on,” she cried. “ I love you too 
much — that’s the truth! I thought I could — that any- 
thing was better than the risk of parting. But when you 
spoke about your father,” — she threw out her hands de- 
spairingly — “ it was like a dagger in my heart. Mon 
Dieu, mon Dieu!^^ She slipped down on to her knees, 
her head bowed upon her arms, broken at last. 

Doran forced his way to her side. 

‘‘ For God’s sake 1 ” His love had conquered. ‘‘ IsoH, 
look at me. Speak to me. What does it matter? Do 
you think I care who your people were? If you’d swept 
crossings it’s all the same! You’re the woman I love — 
mine — mine! ” 

He held her fiercely, her warm body crushed against 
him. It fired his blood. He gave the table a mighty 
shove that sent it grinding across the floor, a statuette 
crashing down, books scattering right and left. 

“There! Now we’ve space to breathe. Kiss me!” 
His mouth closed on hers, salt with her bitter tears. 

Passion, the sister-spirit of Sorrow, swept them to- 
gether. She clung to him, crying and laughing, inco- 
herent. 

“ Forgiven? No, I can’t believe it. It’s a dream — I 
shall wake — all alone ! ” 

“ Not after to-morrow,” he whispered. “ Did you 
think I’d ever let you go? You, with your hair” — his 
hand caressed it — “ and your beautiful sad Jewish eyes. 
That’s the Eastern part of you. It’s puzzled me, but 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


339 

now I know. You’ll never have any more secrets from 
me? Swear it? ” His voice was masterful. 

“ Never! ” She felt his grip relax and drew away to 
glance at his face. For a long moment they gazed at each 
other, striving to part the veil that lies, intangible yet 
menacing, between individual souls, the secret of human 
loneliness. 

Then as she realized the strength of his firm mouth and 
the steady purpose of the grey eyes alight with love, she 
felt again a passing qualm. 

“You’re certain, Francis?” Her voice shook. 
“ There’ll be no regrets — afterwards ? There will never 
come a day when you’ll think that you acted against your 
better judgment? ” 

He looked back fearlessly, sure of himself, with a 
faint smile. 

“No. I take you as I find you, loving you with all 
my heart. But Fm going to be honest with you, sweet. 
I hate the thought of your lie to Judy, that’s the one 
thing that rankles. But we’ll wipe it out ; we won’t look 
back. I shall never speak of it again. As to Clotilde and 
your father it doesn’t count with me that!'' He snapped 
his fingers contemptuously. “ I dare say he had his 
good points and he’s dead now, poor chap.” 

Isoei shivered. For a moment she wondered if it were 
due to the man before her to add the sequel. Then she 
remembered Patty’s counsel. It was her father’s secret 
as well. 

“ There’s one thing more,” said Doran gently, “ that 
puzzles me. Shall I tell you ? ” 

“ Yes.” She waited, inwardly nervous. 

“ I’ve always thought that Lady Manister provided for 
you after her death. I don’t know why, except that it 
seemed natural in an old cousin with whom you had 
lived since your chilhood. Did she by any chance ? ” 

“ Oh, no ! She left me nothing.” Isoel’s face had 
cleared again. “ You see, she died suddenly and she’d 
been very good to me, helped me with my education. She 
arranged all that with my mother. But I had to earn 
my own living. That’s why I went to Clotilde’s.” 

“ Of course. Jolly plucky of you.” He smiled at her 


340 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


but his eyes were thoughtful. ** Then what made you go 
to Venice? ” 

She did not understand that he meant, but did not like 
to ask outright, how she had managed to afford it. 
She answered him literally. 

“ I’ve always longed to see the world. And Italy — of 
all places! I’ve dreamed of it night after night in the 
room that I shared with Patty. I told you ” — her cheeks 
flushed — “ that I had a flat, but it wasn’t quite true. A 
working-girl can’t afford such luxuries. We lived in one 
big room, overlooking the railway line and I used to watch 
the trains roar past and picture myself in a carriage speed- 
ing out to the coast and the sea, away on some great 
adventure. Even last night I got up for another look 
at the sparks in the smoke and thought of you in Holly 
Walk.” 

“ Last night ? ” He stared at her. 

Isoel bit her lip. 

“ Yes. I went there after you left. I’d promised 
Patty — ” She stopped abruptly, seeing the pitfall under 
her feet. “ That’s the friend I told you about. She’s 
back again in London now, and she wanted to see me — ” 
Her voice trailed off. 

Doran nodded silently. He did not like this nocturnal 
adventure. He had left the girl so trustfully in the hall 
at the Russell. Was there no end to this web of deceit? 

Isoel mustered her failing courage. 

‘‘ Is that all that’s worrying you ? ” 

No.” He decided to have it out. I can under- 
stand that you fancied Venice, but — dear, forgive me, 
I don’t want to pry into your affairs — wasn’t it be- 
yond your means ? ” 

She looked down, avoiding his glance. A sudden new 
fear possessed her. She remembered Sir Abel’s Arm 
advice. “ Don’t let him know that we’re acquainted.” 
And here, where she might have been so candid, she tem- 
porized. 

“ Oh, I see ! An old friend gave me the tickets.” She 
faltered, adding, “ and fifty pounds. That’s what made it 
possible.” 

^ Doran’s eyes searched her face. It sounded lame and 
his heart sank. 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


34B 


Generous of her.” His voice was dry. 

Bravely she corrected him. 

It was a man. I’d done him a service and his grati- 
tude took this form.” 

“ A manf He spoke rather sharply. 

“ Yes.” She resented the change in him, which she 
felt with the instinct of love. She decided to speak 
openly. “ A rich man, Sir Abel Groot.” 

At the mention of the name Doran started. He had 
not yet forgotten the incident of the cheque in Paris. His 
thoughts whirled on. It had reached her at the end of 
her visit to Italy and before this she had received fifty 
pounds. A lavish sum, all told, to give out of “grati- 
tude” ? 

Sir Abel Groot. The added title released the spring 
of memory. The South African millionaire. Of coursQ^ 
He felt an instinctive recoil. For Sir Abel bore the rejui- 
tation of sailing uncommonly close to the wind in some of 
his earlier speculations. There was that famous company 
which had risen up like a bubble, and broken, leaving in its 
wake an eddy of despairing victims. Later Sir Abel had 
subscribed heavily to party funds and had found himself 
in due course the recipient of Birthday Honours. 

What could a man of this description have in common 
with IsoH. 

It roused her lover’s jealousy; he hated the bare thought 
of it. 

“ Another mystery? ” he suggested, forcing a smile that 
touched his lips but was unreflected in his eyes. 

Isoel winced. She remembered now Sir Abel’s words 
on the subject; that, if Doran were his father’s son, he’d 
never believe in her again, once he had proved her de- 
ception. 

Her nerves suddenly gave way. Hysterical anger rose 
to the surface. 

“ I suppose you think I’m not to be trusted ? ” She 
flung it wildly in his face. 

Doran shrank back from her as though she had dealt 
him an actual blow. 

“ IsoH ! That’s not fair.” Then he pulled himself to- 
gether. “ How did you come to know this man ? ” 

His tone was harsh and masterful. He was wounded 


342 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


by her unjust taunt and although he would not condemn 
her yet and his whole heart cried out against it, he sus- 
pected fresh deceit. He was nearing the limit of his 
patience. 

She took it badly. Innocent, she resented his attitude. 
Her head went up in scornful pride. 

“ I shan’t tell you. You speak as if — ” She threw 
out her hands with a nervous gesture and left it at that, 
adding coldly, “ I suppose Fm allowed my own friends, 
even if I am engaged. I’ve never interfered with yours ! ” 

A vision of Tory rose before her as she said the words 
and her lips curled. 

“ I don’t approve of your friendship with Groot. He’s 
a wrong ’un,” said Doran grimly. “ I daresay you didn’t 
know it.” His jealousy flared out again. What do you 
owe him ? I’ll pay him back.” 

Owe him ? ” Her eyes flashed. ‘‘ Do you think that 
I would borrow money ? He gave it me — it was a pres- 
ent. He’s been extremely kind to me.” 

“I don’t doubt it!” Doran sneered unconsciously, 
driven to bay. 

His temper had caught fire from hers. In a moment 
the atmosphere was changed. They faced each other, 
oceans apart, each mistrustful and offended. 

Doran broke the silence first. 

“ Now, look here, my dear girl, I don’t want to hurt 
your feelings, but I wish you’d play fair with me. You 
swore you’d have no further secrets and here we are — 
at it again I Why do you hold things back from me ? ” 

“ It’s not that — ” Her bosom heaved. She could 
have explained so easily, but her pride was as obstinate 
as his. Out of a rising sense of panic she gave a hard 
little laugh. Patty would have recognized it as the re- 
sult of strained nerves and that reckless mood which 
seized the girl face to face with despair. 

It completed the disaster; for Doran took it for 
bravado. 

“You think it amusing?” he said slowly. “Well, I 
don’t. I’m not a fool. I hardly suppose that a man like 
Groot flings his money about for nothing! I don’t 
mean — ” 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 343 

But she caught him up with a gasp of startled indig- 
nation. 

Oh ! How dare you? It’s an insult. Ill never for- 
give you for saying that ! ” She stamped her foot on the 
floor. “You judge me by your society friends. I’m 
not a Mrs. Serocold ! I don’t ask men to pay my debts.” 
Doran swore under his breath. “ I belong to a lower 
class, I suppose — my mother’s class — that zvorks for its 
living, honestly in broad daylight. Because I’ve told 
you the whole truth — which you never asked for, re- 
member that — you treat me like an adventuress ! ” 

I soel!'' He caught her wrists. 

“ Let me go ! ” She wrenched them away. “ It’s all 
over — I’ve done with you ! ” 

“ You’re off your head,” Doran retorted. “ You don’t 
give me time to explain. You twist and turn my words 
about and hint at things I never meant.” His voice was 
as hot as her own, yet it held a note of apology that might 
have touched her calmer reason. 

But IsoH would not listen. He had suspected her 
purity. This was the last deadly blow. Never now 
would she marry him. But through the haze of passion- 
ate anger she felt the imperative need to clear her char- 
acter before they parted. She would not retreat under 
a cloud. 

Her eyes fell on the telephone. It appealed to her love 
of the dramatic. Sir Abel should prove her innocence. 
He had promised her his help in trouble. 

Without a word she stepped aside, paused to recall the 
right number and asked for it, through the instrument. 

Doran watched her in amazement. What the devil 
was she up to? 

In another moment he understood. 

“Is that Sir Abel?” She spoke clearly. Only the 
Gallic roll of the “ r ” betrayed her, produced from the 
throat. Her voice was clear and deadly calm. Oui, 
c'est moi, Isoel Dark. I want you to tell Mr. Doran ” — 
the listener tried to intervene but she waved him back 
imperiously — “ how we met, the whole story. I’m speak- 
ing from Mr. Doran’s house. It’s a last favour I’m 
asking you.” 


344 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


She caught Sir Abel’s surprised grunt, then the famil- 
iar grating voice. 

“ Wait a minute ! Tell me more. Only answer ‘ yes ’ 
or ‘no’ — not a word beyond. You understand? Have 
you confessed everything ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I guessed it. You little fool ! Is the engagement 
broken off ? ” 

“ Yes, by me.” She heard him chuckle. 

“ Then I’m not called in as a peacemaker? ” 

“ No. Only to do as I asked. Explain how I came 
by the tickets and the fifty pounds. That’s all.” Doran 
noticed that she did not allude to the cheque in Paris. 
“ At what hour will you be in? . . . Yes, to-day ... At 
six o’clock? Thank you — you’re very kind. Mr. 
Doran will come and see you. Good-bye.” She rang off. 

“ I’ll be damned if I go,” said her lover hotly. “ Why 
can’t you explain things yourself? ” 

He was close to her now; from his great height gazing 
down in her white face. His own was strained. She 
could have seen had she looked up an agony of love and 
grief in the grey eyes. But the heavy lids veiled her 
sight. She lost her last chance of salvation. 

“ Because you wouldn’t believe me,” she cried. 

Doran, wounded to the quick, gulped down something 
that rose in his throat. 

“ I haven’t deserved this,” he said. “ I think, with 
you, that it’s best over.” 

In silence, he watched her slender hands draw off the 
shining row of pearls and lay them down on the littered 
table beside the beautiful emerald ring. 

Something snapped in his heart. No woman was worth 
this pain! He turned and stared out of the window 
until he heard the door close. 


CHAPTER XXX 


N evertheless at six o’clock Doran stood in 
Churton Square before the door of number five. 
He had passed through a bitter struggle, yet his 
sense of justice had prevailed in the end over his stubborn 
pride. Isoel had called Sir Abel as a witness for her de- 
fence and Doran knew that, in his anger and jealousy, he 
had cast a doubt on the virtue of the girl he loved. He 
would obey her last request, undignified as his errand 
appeared, both to himself and to her. 

But Hope, that never entirely dies while life remains, 
was stirring feebly beneath the weight of his despair. He 
would not admit, even now, that the truth — if Sir Abel 
Groot vouchsafed it — could alter the fact of their sepa- 
ration, but his love was stunned and not slain and he 
grasped at the chance of some excuse to reinstate his 
fallen idol. 

The tall footman opened the door and showed the 
visitor into the room where Isoel had first waited with 
the famous letter-case. 

Doran, too restless to sit down, aware that the hands of 
the clock were marking five minutes to the hour appointed 
for the interview, began to study the various pictures, 
which he saw at once were of great value. 

He did not want to think at present of how he should 
commence proceedings and with an effort he forced his 
mind into this fresh opening. 

At last he came to a narrow canvas that held an oddly 
familiar note. An ilex tree stood in the foreground of a 
peaceful scene in the Campagna, veiled by the sadness of 
the twilight. It was signed with his father’s name. 

It seemed to the weary, harassed man like a silent mes- 
sage from the dead, a sympathy that reached out across 
the grave in his hour of despair. 

"" He knew,” thought Doran grimly. “ Poor old chap ! 
How he suffered.” 

He was still examining the picture when the door was 
opened by Sir Abel. 


.345 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


346 

He came forward, very dapper, with a brisk : 

“ Good morning, Mr. Doran,’' and went on pleasantly, 
“ I see you’ve found the little landscape I was hoping to 
have shown you. It’s not in a very good light. One min- 
ute ! ” He turned back and ran his hand down the 
row of electric switches by the door. “ That’s better, 
isn’t it?” 

The shells shielding the many lamps threw a clear glow 
on the paintings, leaving the rest of the room as dim as a 
theatre before the footlights. 

Doran felt inwardy relieved by the turn of events, the 
ice broken so naturally through this reference to his 
parent. 

“ Thanks, yes. I can see it well. It’s characteristic of 
my father. He always preferred simple subjects.” 

Sir Abel was standing now by his side, his pointed 
beard thrust forward, ferrety eyes half-closed as he fol- 
lowed his companion’s glance. 

“ A fine artist,” he said suavely. ‘‘ He deserved to be 
more widely known. I should like to secure more of his 
work.” Doran did not take the hint. Sir Abel con- 
tinued, with a smile, ” I suppose you’re not inclined to 
part with one or two of his smaller pictures ? ” 

“ I’m afraid not.” Doran frowned. He had a sudden 
nervous instinct that Groot was laughing in his sleeve ; a 
true one, as it happened. Suavity was a bad sign where 
Sir Abel was concerned. 

“ You’re wise,” said that gentleman. Fashion in art’s 
an uncertain thing, but I think there will be a market for 
them in a few years’ time. It’s a case where business and 
sentiment meet.” 

It was said with a flattering intonation that shielded the 
speech from open oflence. But Doran sensed that in- 
solence which was a part of the man’s nature. 

He fidgeted, anxious now to get to the object of his 
visit. Sir Abel gave him no chance. 

“ This Claude here,” he moved lower. “ It has a curi- 
ous history. Perhaps it would interest you ? ” 

Doran saw that it was useless to expect him to take 
the initiative. 

“ I’m afraid I’m rather pressed for tfioie.” He turned 
his back on the wall and glanced up at the clock. ‘‘ Per- 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


347 

haps you would be kind enough to explain what I called 
about ? ’’ 

“Ah! There you have the advantage.’’ Sir Abel 
drew forward a chair. “ Won’t you sit down? The fact 
is I hardly understood the message I received from Miss 
Dark this afternoon. No doubt you can make it plain? ” 
His voice was callous and amused. 

Doran ignored the proffered seat and plunged abruptly 
into the subject. 

“ Miss Dark asked me to come and see you. It’s a 
trifle difficult to explain, but I understand ” — he hesi- 
tated — “ that you were kind enough to assist my fiancee 
materially, some weeks ago, in the matter of tickets and 
— er — expenses incurred by her in her visit to Venice. 
I should like you to realize. Sir Abel, that I did not ask for 
this interview nor wish to trouble you in the matter. 
Naturally I should have preferred to hear the details from 
Miss Dark — but she arranged otherwise.” He broke 
off, stammering a little. 

Sir Abel did not help him out. 

“ What does she wish me to tell you?” He gave the 
young man a shrewd glance and settled himself in an 
arm-chair. 

Doran stood with his back to the fire-place. 

“ She asks you to confirm her statement that your gen- 
erosity was the result of gratitude for some service she 
rendered and to tell me exactly what transpired.” 

He might have been holding a court-martial. Sir 
Abel’s near-set eyes twinkled. 

“ I see.” He drew out a case of cigars and offered one 
to the soldier. “ Do you smoke ? ” 

Doran shook his head. 

“ No, thanks. Not now.” 

He resented the other’s attitude. For Groot was smil- 
ing to himself, master of the situation. In the shaded 
light his pointed face with its fleshy lips suggested a 
satyr. 

Carefully he chose an Havana, pierced the end and 
lighted it, with shaky hands, swollen by gout. 

To Doran he looked indescribably evil. It hardened 
his heart against the girl. 

Sir Abel blew out a coil of smoke. 


348 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


“ Yes/’ He examined his cigar. “ Miss Dark is an 
interesting study. I expect you found her so yourself ? ” 

Doran’s eyes were steely now. 

‘‘ It’s not a point I care to discuss. Miss Dark is my 
promised wife.” 

J^Vas/" Sir Abel corrected suavely. Doran made no 
rejoinder. Sir Abel crossed his thin legs and gazed be- 
yond him into space. “ Why didn’t she tell you the story 
herself ? ” 

” She preferred to refer me to you.” 

I see no reason,” the older man’s voice was smooth 
and ironical, ‘‘ why you should place faith in my state- 
ment any more than you do in hers. That, I presume, was 
the intention ? ” Receiving no response to this he went 
on unperturbed. 

“Of course you know her better than I do. At least 
I hope so! ” His full lips twitched. “ You’ve been en- 
gaged, I believe, three weeks; whereas I, unluckily, have 
only seen Miss Dark twice. Once when she returned to 
me a letter-case that I had lost and to-day when she came 
in person to thank me for her visit to Italy which was 
made possible by the reward.” 

“ Reward ? ” Doran looked up. 

“ Exactly. Fifty pounds. It was advertised in the 
morning papers. And very cheap at the price.” He 
drew out from an inside pocket a letter-case, opened it 
and produced the famous miniature in its closed frame, 
pressed the spring and showed his guest the contents. 

“ Those diamonds are valuable — apart from other pri- 
vate matters. You would not suspect me of sentiment ” 
— his voice was cynical and amused — “ but for thirty 
years I’ve carried this about with me. It’s become a 
habit. I’m not going to trouble you, Mr. Doran, with 
the love-affairs of my youth. You have your own to 
cope with now. I gather they’ll take you all their time.” 
He shut up the case and put it back. 

Doran, surprised and disconcerted, tried to reorganize 
his attack. 

“And the tickets?” He asked after a moment. 

“ Ah,” Sir Abel gave a chuckle. “ There we have a fine 
example of philanthropy closely allied to the parsimony of 
the Scotch. My mother was a native of Greenock. My 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


349 


father, I believe, Avas Dutch. If you’re a student of 
racial factors, this may give you food for thought. 
Those tickets were bought for my own use. Miss Dark 
found them with seven pounds and the miniature in 
the letter-case and returned it intact — resisting tempta- 
tion ! 

“ Unluckily an attack of gout had rendered me an in- 
valid. The journey, which was for a special object — to 
attend a sale of pictures in Venice — became an impossi- 
bility. In the course of our conversation I discovered 
that our fair friend was hankering after foreign lands. 
Travel was the dream of her life. She told me, with a 
curious candour, that the tickets had taxed her honesty 
far beyond the diamonds and notes. It gave me a clue 
to her character. As I said before, she’s interesting. A 
dreamer of dreams.” He stroked his beard. “ I per- 
suaded her to use the tickets and to accept the reward in 
order to make the great adventure possible. At first she 
had refused the money. You may have remarked that 
she is proud ? Peculiarly so. Mixed birth often accent- 
uates this failing. The only stipulation I made was that 
she should write me her views on Venice.” He gave a 
low malicious chuckle. I asked her opinion on the pic- 
tures. I was more than repaid by her critici.sms. I only 
wish I could publish them. They gave me many happy 
moments.” 

Doran could have murdered him. With every word 
of this careful speech with its undercurrent of mockery 
he felt that, although the mystery of the girl’s journey 
was explained, her association with this man was a subtle 
desecration. 

Sir Abel watched his stony face. 

“ You must not think,” he added smoothly, “ that I do 
not appreciate your fiancee — your late fiancee I should 
have said.” He paused as he saw his visitor’s lips curl 
with involuntary contempt and his manner changed, harsh 
and repellent. “ Make no mistake, Mr. Doran. I ad- 
mire and respect Miss Dark. I have known a fair num- 
ber of women — intimately — in my life and I’m not eas- 
ily taken in. Miss Dark is a girl in a thousand. But 
she has the defects of her qualities. Impulsiveness is 
one of them. If she had taken my advice she would not 


350 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


stand now in the position of losing all that she prizes in 
life for a scruple of her conscience.” 

Doran started and opened his lips to speak, but Sir 
Abel checked him. 

“ I warned her as a man of the world that I could not 
conceive of a greater folly than confession on the eve of 
marriage of certain facts in her career, concerning her 
birth and her position, unquestioned and unknown by you, 
Yet, I understand, she has told you all ? ” 

Doran nodded. His hands were clenched. 

‘‘ Exactly.” Sir Abel’s voice rose, insolent and pra^ 
vocative. “ I guessed the result of such an action. That 
you, an average young man, moved by the narrow con- 
ventions of caste, would misunderstand not only her 
motive but the courage and faith which inspired it.” 

The soldier quivered at the insult. He took a quick 
step forward. 

“ You go too far! ” His eyes were blazing. ‘‘ You’ve 
overlooked your own share. Damned clever to preach to 
me, but what about that hundred pounds you sent in a 
signed cheque to Paris ? ” 

Sir Abel gave a startled grunt. 

“Eh, what?” 

It seemed to Doran that his straight thrust had gone 
home. He followed up his advantage. 

“ Was that philanthropy ? ” he sneered. “ Or kind ad- 
vice as a ‘ man of the world ’ ? ” 

“God bless my soul!” cried Sir Abel. “You’re not 
such a fool as I took you for.” Unabashed, he rose to his 
feet, brushing past the angry man. “ Stay here — I’m 
coming back.” He crossed the room, thinking aloud. 
“ At my age — and a girl like that ! ” The door slammed 
after him. 

“ Blast him ! ” Doran exploded. 

He used a further unprintable term with the vigour 
which a man acquires in the free converse of the trenches. 
The sharp outburst relieved his feelings. He passed his 
hand back over his head, smoothing the thick vigorous 
hair and tried to collect his scattered wits. “ What the 
deuce is he up to now ? ” He stared hot-eyed at the 
silver ship, the centre-piece of the fine old table, taking in 
every detail sub-consciously with the precision of mo- 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


351 


ments of tense emotion. So had Isoel gazed at it on the 
day of her first visit, waiting for Sir Abel’s verdict at the 
hands of the sleek secretary. 

Doran was not kept long in doubt. 

His host returned, business-like, a thin book in his 
hand with a brownish paper cover. 

“ Now, Mr. Doran, look at this?” He opened it at a 
written page and laid it flat on the table. “ You will see 
here a certain entry — on this side — of a hundred 
pounds.” Doran, inwardly surprised, followed the spatu- 
late pointing finger. '‘A sum banked by Miss Dark’s 
mother, years ago, for her daughter’s dot. * At our 
friend’s request I withdrew it — observe the date — and 
sent it to Paris. She needed it for her trousseau.” He 
could not refrain from a touch of malice. “ It was spent, 
I believe, to the uttermost farthing for a ‘ marriage which 
will not take place.’ ” 

Doran winced. Sir Abel proceeded. 

“ Her only friend was out of town and she wrote to me 
in great haste asking if I could arrange it. To avoid 
delay I sent her a cheque on my banker in Paris, after- 
wards deducting the money from her account at this Sav- 
ings Bank in Soho. You see, I knew that she was to be 
trusted.” He gave his little familiar chuckle. ‘‘ You 
can take this pass-book and make inquiries. I meant to 
return it to her to-day but forgot it until she had left 
the house.” He closed the book and held it out. '‘A 
fortunate thing, as it happened. Perhaps you would 
place it in her hands. I haven’t a notion of her address.” 

Doran’s face was a study. Anger, relief and shame 
succeeded each other in swift waves of expression. 

Sir Abel, moved by a finer impulse, turned away rather 
abruptly. Silence brooded over the room. With a vio- 
lent effort the soldier broke it. 

I’m much obliged,” he jerked out. 

You needn’t be,” said Sir Abel shortly. He was 
staring now at himself in the glass over the Adams mantel- 
piece. But I hope you’re convinced.” A kindlier note 
sounded in his gruff voice. You’re a brave man, Mr. 
Doran. I know your story, it speaks for itself. But, 
without wishing to give offence, I suggest that Miss 
Dark has shown a courage equal to, if not greater than. 


352 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


yours. She had everything in the world to lose by her 
honesty, yet she risked it. 

“ And you don’t realize your luck.” He shrugged his 
thin pointed shoulders. “ For she proved her love by a 
cruel test. You’ve no reason to like me, I’ll admit that, 
but you’ve no cause to suspect my conduct in this matter. 
I’ve been a sound friend to the girl whom I’m still hoping 
you’ll make your wife.” 

He paused for a moment, his eyes fixed on his reflec- 
tion in the mirror. Then he gave a harsh laugh. 

“ Gad, how I envy you your youth ! I’d give the last 
years of my life to stand in your shoes at this minute. 
And I wouldn’t let Isoel Dark slip. She’s a good woman, 
you mark my words. ’Pon my soul, if it comes to that 
and you throw her over — ” His lips twitched. “ I’m 
not too old to marry yet. She shan’t go under through 
your fault.” 

Doran was moving towards the door. He wheeled 
round at this remark. 

You seem to think it was by my wish that the engage- 
ment was broken off. It was Miss Dark’s own desire.” 

“ And doesn’t that prove her honesty ? ” Sir Abel 
glared at the younger man. “ Go to her,” he said gruffly. 

A pair of fools ! ” 

It was his blessing. 

Doran drew in a deep breath of the evening air as he 
found himself outside that abhorred house. His brain 
was still in a whirl. Never had he met a man whom he 
disliked so intensely. 

And yet? 

He could not define the thought, but later he came to 
recognize something that dimly appealed to him in Sir 
Abel’s final attitude. 

Meanwhile, still sore and angry, he dismissed the inter- 
view from his mind as he strode along the pavement. He 
needed the whole of his concentration for the task before 
him. For in his heart was a resurrection of love and 
longing, his idol back on her pedestal. 

Painfully he had misjudged her. He began to see that 
her strange conduct that afternoon had been the result 
of her outraged womanly pride. He had struck her in 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


353 


a vital part, through his ill-considered speech. After the 
proof she had given him of the strength and purity of her 
love he had cast a doubt upon her honour. Doran winced 
at the thought. 

For the first time he realized the courage of the young 
girl in her voluntary con.fession of the squalid back- 
ground to her life. She had trusted him to understand 
her temptation and her victory. But Doran himself had 
failed her. He cursed his lack of faith and insight. 

Now he must prove that his love was as great as her 
own and accept himself an equal share of humiliation. 
For the first time in their acquaintance he would come as 
a suppliant to her feet. It brought him a sudden realiza- 
tion of his attitude during their courtship, the rather ex- 
ceptionable one of the man who counts on certain victory. 

He remembered Sir Abel’s scornful speech : “ I 

shouldn’t let IsoH Dark slip.” 

‘‘ Nor shall I, by heaven ! ” swore Doran. He quick- 
ened his pace towards the Russell. 

Arrived at the high balconied building, he made his 
way through the portals unchallenged, drew out a card 
and scribbled upon it, then beckoned to a page-boy, the 
“ littlest one ” with the bright eyes whom Isoel had named 
the “ Robin.” 

“ Will you take this up to Miss Dark at once, and say 
I’m in the reading-room ? ” 

The page sadly shook his head. He had admired the 
pretty girl to an extent which had overthrown his alle- 
giance to an American beauty well known in Cinema cir- 
cles. 

“ Miss Dark ’as left, sir,” he announced. 

‘‘ Left ? ” Doran’s face fell. 

“ Yes, sir. An hour ago.” He revelled in the soldier’s 
chagrin. That’s ’it ’im,” he said to himself, conscious 
of a fallen rival. 

Doran felt in his pocket and produced a shilling. 

“ Do you know where she’s gone ? ” 

“ No, sir.” The Robin became eager to help. Cupid- 
ity warred with his youthful jealousy. ‘‘ But she may 
’ave left a message, sir. At the h’office. Shall I h’ask ? ” 

“ No.” Doran tossed him the coin and made his way 
there himself. 


354 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


But his careful inquiries elicited little help in this quar- 
ter. 

The lady had given no address. She had seemed to be 
in a great hurry, had paid her account and driven off 
in a taxi with her luggage. The book-keeper was 
rather short. It was close upon her dinner-hour. 

Doran was forced to beat a retreat. He tried to resist 
the sense of panic that threatened him. Isoel lost, swal- 
lowed up in this great city ? Impossible ! He must find 
her. 

He went out down the steps and sought assistance from 
the porter. Here again his mission failed. 

“ Eve only just come on duty, sir. The other man’s the 
one to ask. No, sir, not to-night. It’s his evening off. 
He’ll be back in the morning. P’r’aps the boots as 
brought down the luggage might have heard her give the 
address.” 

This worthy, eventually unearthed, explained with a 
lofty indifference that so many people came and went 
he couldn’t “ recklect the lady.” 

A station omnibus drew up before the door, heavily ' 
laden, and the men pocketing their tips turned their at- 
tention to the arrivals. Doran had to step aside to avoid 
the influx of travellers. He crossed the road and began 
to walk round the gardens by the railings, formulating 
fresh plans. 

Who would be likely to know where she lived? That 
flat, or room, she had shared with Patty. For he guessed 
this was her hiding-place. She would fly to her friend 
in the hour of trouble. 

Sir Abel? No. He remembered his words when the 
pass-book had changed hands. He felt in the midst of 
his misery a faint sensation of relief. Clotilde? His 
eyes brightened. Surely some member of her staff would 
know Isoel’s address. Then a new scruple seized him. 
Would she resent his making inquiries? He remembered 
Mrs. Serocold and his own earlier visit there. How, he 
wondered, had Isoel guessed that he had paid that lady’s 
bills ? A thought followed, stabbing him. 

“ She knew — and yet she trusted me ! ” 

“Taxi, sir?” A hoarse voice close to his ear made 
him jump. 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 


355 

He glanced up and saw he had come to the border of 
a cab-stand. It evoked a new train of ideas. 

“ No, not at present,” he answered slowly. “ I suppose 
when they want any taxis, they whistle across from the 
Russell f ” 

‘‘ Yessir.” The man stared. 

“ Well, look here,” said Doran. “ I ought to have met 
a lady there an hour ago, but I was detained and they’ve 
made some muddle about her message, so I don’t know 
exactly where she’s gone. If you could give me any clue 
I’d make it well worth your while.” 

He drew out a pound note and, holding it in his hand, 
proceeded to describe the girl, her dress and general ap- 
pearance. 

“ She left the hotel in a taxi with luggage about six 
o’clock. I suppose you’re not the man who drove her ? ” 
No, sir, it weren’t me.” The brawny driver looked 
regretful, his eyes fixed on Doran’s hand. “ I’m just 
back from a long fare, Fulham way, and I stopped to get 
my tea as I was coming ’ome. But some of the rest 
might know. Sam! ” He called to the next cab. “ ’Ave 
yer taken a lidy from the Russell anywhere since five?” 

He had. Doran’s heart quickened. 

What were she like ? ” asked his friend. 

‘‘ Middlin’ young and tall,” said Sam,” suspending 
his polishing operations, a piece of dirty cotton waste 
grasped in his raised hand. “ Told me I was to ’urry up 
and when I’d fair busted me tyres getting ’er to Water- 
loo, gave me tuppence and ’er blessing ! ” He spat out 
his disgust. Then added aggressively, as if this ex- 
plained the whole matter. “ Dark ’air and a ’ook nose.” 
That’s no good,” said Doran, vexed. 

They moved on down the rank, his companion ques- 
tioning the drivers, eager to earn his reward. Twice 
Doran’s hopes were raised only to fall to earth again. 
His genial friend became despondent. 

She might ’ave taken a outside taxi as drove up to 
the door with a fare. Saves ’em the trouble o’ whistling, 
yer see — war-economy o’ breath ! There’s two more on 
us in this stand but they’re out jist now. If yer leaves 
yer number, sir, we’ve got a telephone attached. I could 
ring yer up, later on.” 


356 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


Doran hesitated, his mind turning again to Clotilde. 
He could ring her up, too, he thought. No need to go 
there in person. 

The driver suddenly gave a sharp exclamation of 
joy: 

“ ’Ere's one of ’em ! ” A rickety car painted green was 
curving round into position at the end of the paved space, 
steered by a red-haired man with a truculent expression. 

“ Hi, Ginger ! ” he shouted to him, hastening down in 
his direction, Doran close upon his heels. This ’ere 
gent wants to find a missing lidy as took a cab from ’ere- 
abouts an hour ago. Maybe a fare of yours ? ” He de- 
scribed IsoH with gusto. Yellow-’aired and thin and 
pile — went from the Russell with ’er luggage.” 

Ginger scowled. What if she did ? ” Indifferent, he 
scrambled down, lifted the bonnet and dived in, to curse 
his engine volubly. 

Doran’s friend shrugged his shoulders. 

‘‘ That’s ’im all over ! Irish, yer see, sir, a ’Ome Ruler, 
an’ never ’appy without his grumble. ’Ere, Ginger I ” 
He advanced. “ Come out o’ that. The gen’leman’s 
w’iting. Yer won’t lose by bein’ civil.” The fiery head 
came up with a jerk, its owner’s blue mistrustful eyes on 
Doran. His mate tipped him a wink. “ Best tell where 
yer took ’er.” 

Ginger looked from one to the other as though he sus- 
pected some trap. Doran had recourse again to the usual 
method of persuasion. 

The Irishman smiled slowly and passed a hand across 
his mouth. 

“A young lady, is it, sorr?” He spoke with a rusty 
brogue. “ An’ dressed in grey with a dancin’ step — an* 
free with her money, bless her sowl ! ” 

“ I should say so,” Doran smiled. The change in the 
man was so amusing, 

“ Sure an’ I took her to a street by Euston and lift her 
there at number foive — I forget the name, but I’d find 
it agin aisily. An’ carried up her box, I did — which 
isn’t me way with ivry wan ! ” 

“ Can you drive me there now ? ” asked Doran, mas- 
tering his rising excitement. 

Ginger glanced at his fellow-driver. 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 35;^ 

‘‘I could. Though it’s agin the rules. Ye’d be betther 
takin’ the first on the rank.” 

“ That’s all square,” the other assured him. 

Doran thanked the peacemaker. 

‘‘ Here you are ! ” The note changed hands. “ I’m 
much obliged for all your trouble.” Then he paused, 
aware that he took the matter a little too much for 
granted. “ You’re sure you’ve made no mistake? ” His 
shining eyes searched Ginger’s face. “ A tall young lady, 
very slender, dressed in grey with a blue hat? Fair hair 
and dark eyes ? ” 

The same.” Ginger gave a chuckle. “ Purty as a 
spring mornin’ 1 ” 

Doran waited for no more. He was in the taxi with 
a bound, indifferent to the broad smile on the first driver’s 
face. 

That worthy saw him off. 

‘‘ Thank ye, sir,” and added, grinning, “ ’Ere’s luck, 
Captin’,” as the taxi slewed round into the road. 

Doran lost all sense of direction when they left the 
huge square. His thoughts flew ahead of the engines! 
Once he blinked and gazed out as they crossed a busy 
thoroughfare and dived again into mean streets, crowded 
round a terminus. The shunting of a distant train re- 
minded him of the girl’s words when she described her 
midnight vigils, watching the sparks in the smoke. 

“ This must be right,” he said to himself. But what 
an awful place to live in 1 ” 

They drew up at last before a row of houses larger 
than those which they faced and retaining an air of faded 
grandeur beneath the time-worn, flaking stucco. 

On the opposite side some ragged urchins were play- 
ing about in the gutter and a hawker with a low cart 
piled with bananas was crying hoarsely the excellence of 
his wares. 

Doran felt a sharp misgiving as he got out and glanced 
at the number. 

You’d better wait,” he said to the man. I’m not 
sure that this is the place.” 

He rang the bell. No one answered. Then he saw 
that the door was ajar. He pushed it wider and peered 
in at a hall with dirty distempered walls and a steep 


358 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


flight of stone stairs marked by innumerable scuffling 
feet 

Could Isoel live here? It seemed incredible to him. 

A door opened on his left and a woman in curling-pins 
looked out, a wailing infant in her arms. 

Doran answered her curious glance. 

‘‘ I believe a Miss Dark lives here. Can you tell me if 
I’m right?” 

The woman, still young, smiled and nodded, disclosing 
almost toothless gums. 

“ It’s the first floor, straight up. The door on the 
right. Yer can’t miss it.” 

He thanked her and moved forward, all his soul crying 
out with pity and love and amazement. Isoel — his 
“golden vision” — in this barren tenement of the poor, 
refusing the luxury he offered at the price of her self- 
respect. 

He realized with cruel force much that had been hid- 
den from him; her sensitive shrinking from confession 
and the pride which had sent her back to this. 

It humbled the man, yet he gloried in her, as he 
trudged up the dingy stairs. She had risked so much 
for “ a scruple of conscience.” Sir Abel Groot had been 
right. Her courage and faith were greater than his. 

He paused when he reached the first landing. Before 
him was a narrow window with a pane obscured by 
brown paper where the glass had been recently smashed. 
The light was dim and he leaned forward to see if a 
bell stood at the side of the shabby door on his right. He 
could not find one and hesitated. 

The “ flat ” ! Quite suddenly he remembered the scene 
in the gondola that “ blue ” day as they drifted along 
beside sun-drenched Malamocca and Isoel’s desperate, 
smiling evasion when he asked for her town address. 

“ Oh, my dear ! — my poor child 1 ” He groaned as the 
words rose to his lips. Then the knowledge that she was 
there behind those dusty painted panels sent his pulses 
beating wildly. He gathered his courage in both hands 
and knocked twice, holding his breath. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


T ie door was opened by a stranger ; a girl with a 
round freckled face and red hair fluffed out on 
either side over her ears. 

She wore a bright magenta blouse fastened with large 
round pearls. Her little blue eyes were so fierce as 
they swept his face that Doran stepped back. 

The girl immediately advanced, closing the door firmly 
behind her. 

Yes? ” She stood there, hands to her hips, vixenish 
and menacing. 

‘‘ I want to see Miss Dark. I understand that she lives 
here.” He spoke stiffly, surprised by her manner and 
aware of a sharp disappointment. 

‘‘ You're quite right.” Patty scowled. “ But you 
won't see her — not if I know it! You're Mr. Doran, I 
suppose ? ” 

He nodded, his mouth grim. 

“ Then I'd like a few words with you. But not in 
there — ” She jerked her shoulder aggressively towards 
the door. You’ve nearly killed her, as it is 1 And if 
you’d any decency you’d leave her alone just now.” 
Doran could have boxed her ears. 

“ I suppose you’re Patty,” he said drily. 

“ Not to you,” she flashed back. I’m Miss Stephens, 
if you please.” 

‘‘ I apologize.” Doran smiled. Her sudden dignity 
amused him. He recognized, too, that it would be wise 
to mollify this fiery champion. You see,” he explained, 
“ I’ve always heard my fiancee speak of you as ' Patty.’ 
I know what a friend you’ve been to her.” 

But Patty saw through his manoeuvre. 

“ You don’t get round me that way ! Besides she’s not 
your fiancee — not since you threw her over.” 

I didn’t ! ” Doran’s voice was hot. He pulled him- 
self in hand again but the rather boyish repudiation had 
held a certain ring of truth. It impressed the girl watch- 
ing him. She much preferred this open warfare. 

3SQ 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


360 


“ Well, we can’t discuss it "here and have the neigh- 
bours gossiping. There’s a room to let across the pas- 
sage. If you’ll come in there I’ll speak to you. But 
I’m not going to have IsoH worried.” 

Doran, masking his impatience, accepted her proposi- 
tion. She led the way and he followed, into a dirty de- 
serted apartment, with a litter of paper and other rub- 
bish, including a broken discarded chair leaning up 
against the wall, crippled by the loss of a leg. 

The fogged windows were tightly closed, the air in- 
describably foul, and Doran choked as he tried to breathe 
it. Even Patty gave a sniff. 

'' Do you mind if I open this ? ” His hand was already 
on the catch. 

“ You can try to. I expect it’s stuck.” Patty’s blue 
eyes twinkled. For Doran was using all his strength. 
iThe window would not give an inch. “No go ! ” The 
girl giggled, pleased at his discomfiture. 

But she did not know the man she dealt with. Doran 
was not in the mood to yield. He glanced behind him 
and picked up the chair. 

“ Stand back ! ” He warned her, smiling. The next 
moment with a crash the lowest pane had disappeared. 

That’s better ! ” He drew in a breath of the air that 
poured through the jagged opening as though the faint 
room sucked it in. 

“ My! You’ll catch it,” Patty scolded. 

He laughed at her. The incident had relieved him 
physically. 

“ It’s an ^ accident.’ These things will happen 1 I’ll 
make it right. Don’t worry I ” He drew out his hand- 
kerchief from inside his cuff and wiped his fingers. 

The thought flashed through Patty’s mind that here 
was a man who found his way over most obstacles. She 
felt a sneaking respect for him. 

“ Now then. Miss Stephens.” He stood facing her, 
serious once more, his dark brows in a straight ridge 
over his keen compelling eyes, very tall in his khaki, 
looking down upon her freckles. “ I’m going to ask you 
a straight question. Do you think that Miss Dark would 
be happier with me — or without me? ” 

It was unexpected. Patty stared. 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 361 

“ I can’t say — off-hand. Depends on the kind of man 
you are.” 

“Is she happy now?” Doran persisted. 

“ She’s broken-hearted,” said Patty fiercely. 

A quiver passed across his face. The girl noticed it 
and wondered. 

“ Then will you help me to put things right? ” 

“ How ? ” She was still on the defensive. 

“ Get her to marry me to-morrow.” 

Patty gasped. 

“ You mean that? ” Her voice rose, shrill with excite- 
ment. She moved a pace nearer him. “ On your 
word ? ” 

“ On my honour,” said Doran. 

There came a dramatic little pause. 

“And you’re a V.C. too.” Patty was speaking her 
thoughts aloud. 

Doran smiled. He understood that she was weighing 
him in the balance as a soldier and a gentleman. 

“ What do you think I came here for ? ” He felt a 
sudden liking for this candid friend of Isoel’s. He took 
her into his confidence. “ Pll own I’ve made a mess of 
things.” His voice was gloomy as he spoke. “ I sup- 
pose you know all about it ? ” 

Patty shook her red mop. 

“ That’s just it,” she almost wailed. “ She won’t ex- 
plain! Not a word. I’ve never known her like this be- 
fore! Only says it’s all over. I thought you’d given 
her the go-by. She just sits there in despair, staring out 
through the window. She doesn’t cry. It’s simply aw- 
ful ! I can’t bear it.” Her voice broke. “ I could have 
murdered you just now when you came to the door all 
la-di-da and sort of offered yer visiting-card ! ” She was 
working up into anger again. “ You’d no business to 
treat her like this — as good a girl as ever breathed ! Too 
good for a man of your class. I told her as much — so 
there!'' 

Doran gave a rueful smile. 

“ I daresay you’re right. But I’d like you to know 
she broke it off of her own accord. Because — she 
thought — ” He was stammering now — “ that I’d lost 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


362 

my belief in her. The worst of it is she spoke the truth.’ 
I couldn’t understand the part Sir Abel Groot had played 
in her life.” 

Groot ! ” cried Patty. She brought out the name 
with a venom that startled Doran. “Nasty old beast! 
I always said that he wasn’t up to no good. Not that 
Isoel,” she added loyally, on the defensive, “ would ever 
look at a man like him — ” 

“ I know.” Doran interrupted. 

Patty became rather thoughtful. 

“ So that was the trouble.” She bit her lip. “ What 
made you change your mind ? ” 

“ She asked me to go and see him. She refused to 
tell me a word herself.” Patty was watching him, lynx- 
eyed. Her face changed at this remark. “ So I went.” 
Doran drew himself up. “ It was about that fifty pounds. 
He told me that it was not a present, but a reward, which 
she had earned.” 

“ And you believed him ? ” 

He nodded his head. 

“ Of course. You see, it was IsoH.” He gulped 
down a lump that rose in his throat. “ I was a fool ever 
to doubt her. But she’d kept so many things back and 
when she refused to explain this, I felt in despair. Can 
you understand ? ” 

Patty impulsively held out her hand. 

“ Rather ! ” She was won. 

Doran gripped the stumpy fingers with their pointed 
nails until he hurt her ; but Patty bore the pain unflinch- 
ing. 

Then she began to plead for her friend. 

“It’s not her fault — she’s like that — awfully proud 
and touchy, you know. That mother of hers was a fool. 
Brought her up like a fine lady, always boasting of her 
father. A pretty father ! ” Patty scoffed. “ Drank like 
a fish and deserted them. Well, she knows now what he 
was I I think she’s not got over the shock. Enough to 
make her downright ill, to see him killed under her eyes.” 

“ What ? ” Doran stared, amazed. 

Patty gasped. 

“Now I’ve done it! I thought you knew?” She 


JHE DREAMER AWAKES 


363 

searched his face anxiously. I’d best tell you. It’s my 
fault if she kept it back. We decided it was her father’s 
secret. You see, she felt it awfully.” 

She proceeded to enlighten him. Doran looked horri- 
fied. 

“ My poor little girl ! That too.” 

'‘You don’t mind?” asked Patty bluntly. “I mean 
about his being a waiter.” 

“ Good Lord, no ! I remember the man. You could 
tell he’d seen better days. Poor chap ! Though I’m glad 
he’s gone. It’s best so — for Isoel.” 

Patty drew a sigh of relief. 

Doran smiled at her expression. 

“ I don’t care a damn,” he confided, “ about anything 
except this. I want to see her, and see her now. May 
I?” 

Patty beamed at him. 

“ Go and make it up,” she cried. “ I’ll stay here. You 
know the way?” But Doran already had reached the 
door. Patty was after him like a shot. “ I say, one 
minute! Don’t let her know about her father? That 
I’d told you. She mightn’t like it.” 

“ All right. It’s our secret.” 

His smile was so friendly and confidential that Patty 
giggled and blew him a kiss. Doran grinned as he 
crossed the landing. 

“ That’s a good girl,” he said to himself. 

Then, his heart in his mouth, he tapped again at 
Isoel’s door. There was no answer. He. paused and 
listened. 

“ Go in,” breathed Patty across the intervening space, 
her face as anxious as his own. 

He turned the handle noiselessly and stood, at last, 
upon the threshold. 

Isoel sat by the open window, her hands folded in her 
lap. He could see her profile clearly outlined against the. 
shadows of the night deeper than those in the squalid 
street, for the railway cutting lay beyond with its hollow 
void, dark and misty. 

She reminded him of a lunette in a far-distant Italian 
cloister, with one of della Robbia’s saints ; the pure lumi- 


3^4 


THE BEST IN LIFE 


nous white of her face and the blue-grey of the back- 
ground framed in the arched Georgian window. 

“Isoel!” 

She did not move. She seemed to be wrapped in 
lonely dreams. He stole closer, his heart thudding. 
Then he knelt down at her feet, awed by her mood, fear- 
ing to touch her. 

“ Isoel, will you forgive me?” 

He saw the slender hands tighten ; her bosom rose and 
fell quickly but she gave no other sign of his presence 
save the painful clasp of those fragile fingers. 

He stooped and pressed his lips to them. 

She drew them away with a sharp cry. 

‘"Yes,” said Doran tensely. They’re mine. I’ve a 
right to them.” 

And to me ? ” she cried, a little wildly. “ You forget ! 
I belong to Sir Abel Groot.” 

All the pent-up scorn and despair of her broken hopes 
lay in the speech. She turned her sombre gaze on him 
and met his own rebelliously. 

But Doran’s will was the stronger. Now, when she 
tried to lower her eyes they were held by his. In vain 
she sought to escape from the passionate love and pity 
that welled up in their grey depths. They seemed to be 
drawing her down to him. Slowly her anger ebbed away. 

Through a mist she heard his longing voice. 

“ Come to me ! I love you so.” 

She gave a little breathless sob. 

“ But you don’t trust me.” 

‘‘ I do, I do ! ” His arms strained up but left her free. 
“My darling, can’t you understand? You’re brave — 
won’t you be merciful? For God’s sake, look at me!” 
For her heavy lids had fallen now. “ Ah ! ” — as shyly 
she obeyed him — “ I swear to you, as I live. I’ve but one 
thought in the world : that I love you and honour you and 
long for you as my wife.” 

She put out a timid hand and touched his cheek with 
her finger-tips, the furtive caress of a child. It was done 
almost unconsciously. She seemed still to be lost in 
dreams. 


THE DREAMER AWAKES 365 

** I wonder . . 

She caught a glimpse over him of the great mirror, 
like a wraith of long past magnificence, with its tarnished 
frame and broken cherub. In it she saw the kneeling 
form of her fairy prince with his straight young limbs, 
broad shoulders and flung back head. It seemed like a 
dream within a dream. 

The house shook as a train roared past, speeding out- 
ward to the sea, leaving behind it a trail of smoke stung 
by sparks that glowed and vanished. Out, out, on the 
road of adventure ! 

But here in this bare and shabby room, with its black- 
ened ceiling and iron beds stood Romance, a golden figure, 
calling to her that the “ best in life for which she had 
played so heedlessly, lay at her feet, achieved through 
pain, a love that was based on Truth and Honour. 

Everything else faded before it, this Vision Splendid, 
hers at last. 

‘‘Francis, Francis!** The spell snapped. 

Like a tired child she slipped down into the arms that 
closed about her. 


\ 


THE END 









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